Corner of Obsession

11:27pm: People are full of themselves (myself included)
I watched Gattaca a couple days ago. For those of you that otherwise are unfamiliar with name (such as myself six days ago), the plot summary is "a genetically inferior man assumes the identity of a superior one in order to pursue his lifelong dream of space travel(IMDb)." The main theme I was supposed to take from it, one can assume, is that in the future, we will be able to completely control genetics and homogenity will prosper. Fear of genetic manipulation, etc. We are also supposed to root for the "plucky" hero that works the system so that he may rise above his position and become one of the elite, thus allowing his desire. He also gets the girl.
pause
I have always had a problem with such premises. Maybe it's the fact that I grew up listening to genetics and understanding that as much as we know, we understand just a little. We have, after all, yet to successfully clone a human, much less be able to go in and physically manipulate genes. Perhaps it's the self-deprecating humor that arises knowing that if such world were to exist, I would probably be one of the first to be considered unfit, thus ending in my death (at my morbid) or my sterilization (at the most inhumane). Or maybe, maybe, it's because it's no different then eugenics, the idea of inferior versus superior humans, a flawed theory to such an extent that I can't even begin to take it seriously. But I suppose the main reason why I was not enthralled so much by the movie, as much as I was supposed to, was that in order for an "invalid" (a genetically inferior human, which of course raises the question what does it mean to be inferior, and since having a heart condition is considered inferior, the spectrum is painfully broad), to get anywhere in life, he/she has to take the identity of another. I heartily applaud the protagonist for wanting to go for his dream, but he has changed nothing. The flawed system is still in place and hundreds, if not thousands, are not so lucky, still working under their full potential, being judged by the probability of genetics rather than their actual capability. Showing that in order to get anywhere in the future, you have to be born in the elite class, in which case the entire prejudice system is bases solely to keep the rich where they are and the poor where they should be(and if I needed to see that, I can read a newspaper, thank you kindly), or lie about your entire life, betray your own self.
Still, not all was terrible about the movie. I liked the ending where the doctor that has been tending the protagonist shows that he knew early on that the protagonist was not who he pretended to be, and probably guessed that he was an invalid. And if one man, one man, didn't blow the whistle, that fought against the system through silence, oddly, he made me more proud of the human race than all of the other characters.

4:11pm: Free Time is an Illusion
It is officially winter. Since Monday, it's been snowing about non-stop up here in 'da UP. To put it mildly, the streets, sidewalks, general outside, is fairly unpleasant to walk around. But, even more importantly, I have slipped on ice on the sidewalk. It is now officially winter because there is snow and I have slipped on ice. and that wasn't self-conceited at all.

In other more important news, I have a new coat that is wonderful and soft and unfortunately from China but it's still soft and wonderful so I shall ignore it. Also, it's snowing again and the sidewalks are only half-way decently plowed. Also I have watched the Bourne Movies. ( Bourne Two and Three notes )

11:15pm: Why Frank Shouldn't Read Certain Books
Before I begin my review, I have to say that I entirely put this upon myself. No one forced me to read it nor was it useful in any way, shape, or form for my current class(es) or future ones. It was suggested to me from, what I thought, to be a reliable source even though I had already highly suspected his taste. I also admit a certain amount of masochistic tendencies along with a certain fearlessness when it comes to life in general, and literature specifically. I was wrong, so very, very wrong.

The book is The Last Guardian, the day is either Wednesday or Thursday, the time is the afternoon. Immediately there were clues that I should have headed. First was that I read a previous suggested book from the same young man, different author and different world. It's fairly mild (compared to others, like a certain novel that I am describing) theology was difficult for me to swallow, much less agree with. The young man whom had suggested these books said that the book I currently had was even more religious, meaning there was probably even more theology that I would have issues with. Still I felt I could deal with anything that came up. The second clue was the sticker on the cover of the book. It was a "Faith in Fiction" sticker. These are the sort of the stickers that are put on conservative Christian books (like Left Behind), or paperback romance books based on the Bible (don't ask). These are not stickers put on books that I read, or ever want to read. I felt doubt rise since I had never seen this sticker on any of my Father Greeley books. Still, Father Greeley is Catholic and so I laid my doubt aside. The third clue and one I only garnered far too late was the author's notes. At the end of the book, the author denounced evolution, even going further to pronounce that the world was much younger than any so-called science has proved. Humans and dinosaurs did walk the earth and the world is only several thousand years old. Because the theory of evolution and a changing world (which somehow he confused with the other) "theory" constantly changes should automatically give Christian doubt to believe. Not that of course science should change. God forbid that laws and known ideas should change.

Unfortunately I didn't read this, though I'm not even sure that would have changed my mind to read it, though I probably would have a better mind about it (maybe), since the notes happened to be at the end of the book, alas.

Now for the book itself. You know there are little things that either make or break a good book in my opinion. Small details that put the book on your "read it once or twice and never again" list and "will go into a burning building to save" book. Then there are the details that make you want to burn the book in your figurative backyard. Such as naming a Nice Jewish Boy Marcus. You do not name a NJB, Marcus. I refuse to accept a NJB named Marcus. Marcus and NJB don't even belong in the same sentence. Even if he is from "another world" (sort of, but not really) and he only has a cameo appearance. Marcus is a good Roman name. You don't name supposed-Saviors of the world Marcus, you name Josiah or Ezekiel or make up a bunch of consonants and vowels for a new name. I digress. Another small, insignificant detail was "the wedding". It is not The Wedding, and in fact I hate to even describe it as a wedding except that the author (who obviously is writing this solo or with another male) calls it a wedding. As usual the protoganist and his love-interest (of whom I will get to later) are getting married, because that's what couples in a fantasy world do, they get married. Is this near the end of book? Regretfully for my sanity, it is not. Instead of sort of a resolution to the climax, it's a build-up, and a fairly pathetic one at that. This..."wedding" is about a step above an elopement. There is no family, on either side, though the bride's remaining family could easily have shown up, there is no wedding dress (in fact the bride is wearing something horribly unworthy for such an event), no bridemaids, no best men, no reception, vows "straight" from the Bible (with a lot of woman bending over backwards with the man not doing so much) and no rings or embarressing kissing. All they have to do is drink from the same wine glass, excuse me, goblet. I'm sure all the girls out there sure like that idea.....Did I mention the fact that it's a guy writing this book? No woman, even that deeply in love, would put up with that sort of a ceremony. There isn't even a description if the guy is wearing a suit, or the equivelant of one, at the ceremony. Which leads me to the dearly beloved couple. We find out, early on, that they are childhood sweethearts, fallen in love with each other at early age and never gone out with any else but themselves. This does not bode well for my connection with this couple. I don't understand childhood sweethearts, possibly because I never stayed long enough in an area to keep one, at least not when I was young enough not to realize boys are stupid and think different than I do. There is also the fact that I don't think you can really be that attracted to a person after you see them go through their most awkward stages of life, namely adolescence. At the same time, this could just be my upbringing talking but it was a detail that bothered me. The final small, insignificant detail before the "big stuff" was the lack of sex. I'm not just talking about full-blown sex scenes here, those don't necessarily make a good book (though it can make it an enjoyable one) but some subtle jabs that reminds us that these are adults here, with adult needs. At one point I was even looking for some kisses and some "quiet time" between the couple, particularly after the wedding. Nope, nothing, zilch, nada. The closest thing that the book ever came to when it came to sex, and the practices of sex, was a couple mentions of unknown women being raped and prostitution. Even the happy wedding "lovers" didn't get a honeymoon, much less a sentence of something like "and the two lay together and He looked happily upon them" or some such nonsense. Either everyone has no sex drive whatsoever, which means children are only reproduced through rape or sexual liaisons, or they get all their sexual fulfillment from this Ish fellow who is supposed to represent/is God and Jesus. Right-oh, and I'll take a right to Reality Check please.

Still the devil is in the details right? And we're supposed to fight against the devil so we can ignore details. As any good Christian book, there has to be Theology. I openly admit that my theology is a little bit screwy, being a product of a multi-religious family and having the most fond of memories of a very, letscall'em liberal pastor. So I knew I was in trouble when I realized that the world The Last Guardian had created was cut down to two sides, the Light and the Dark, or GOOD and EVIL. Gray does not exist, obviously you are misguided or purposely being obstinate. What frightened me was when I mentioned this rather, in my personal opinion, naive view of the world to the original owner of this book I was shut down and pointedly told that I was wrong and the world was really in black and white. There is only good and evil. This point of view causes some severe problems and some nauseating hypocrisy. For instance killing is Evil but soldiers killing others is Good. At that point I didn't bother asking if a good deed done in the name of Evil is still a good deed and a bad deed done for the sake of Good is still an evil deed. Still, if it weren't for the fact that every singly page the author had to stress on there being two sides, and only two sides, I was still okay. This wasn't Belgariad/Mallorean, where everyone is human and fallible and I could actually connect with the characters, but okay, we're flowing with this. Then we hit The Paragraph. At this point the main protagonist (whose name is T.G., and suprisingly it does not stand for The God), is an alternate universe. There are several false gods being worshiped and those that believe in the "True" God are being persecuted. Really, what originality. As he is being explained all this, we catch this little tidbit. In which anyone who doesn't believe in the Savior (from in essence the Bible but with a lot more understandable prophecy) is part of the Dark automatically. Wait just a minute here! Is the author saying that anyone who doesn't believe in Jesus Christ is Evil? Of course not. He just implies that. A lot. The inverse then means that those that believe in Jesus are Good. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, danger Will Robinson. You actually believe that God is that picky about people? That S/He only will help those that believe in His Son and everyone is chopliver? That the only good people out there are people who believe in Jesus? We have a serious crisis of faith people, on my part. If I honestly believe that God was that picky or the world was that black and white I would become an atheist or at least a gnostic this instant. Personally, I believe only God knows what will happened to you when you die and everything else is pure speculation. I do know that if I had to pick between faith, narrow-minded hypocrites that are everything a Christian should be, kind, patient, and use polite language, I would be better in hell with people I can actually talk to. Anyway, we hit the next big roadblock for me. The Crucifixion-equivalent scene. Now T.G. (our "interesting" protaganist) knows he's going to die, probably very painfully as he's been around the Dark people for some time. One would think at this point he would be bitching and whining and be generally human about the fact that he is going to DIE, as in a doorknob, as in no you do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, final sort of death. This is the guy who had bitched, whined, and an obnoxious teenager (even though he was in twenties but you get the picture) at the beginning of the book when he found out he was supposed to a prophet. When he found out all he had to do was carry around a stupid book and preach to an already converted choir. Wow, what a trial. But when, like his death, is put into a peril, he's all into the trust of God. Yes, God I totally put all my faith into you, yes I know my lover is in enemy hands and will probably die a horrible, rape-filled death, and oh yeah, I'm the only hope of the people, but hey, you said it was Good once, just once, I totally believe you. At that point I would have been cursing God's name out and asking some serious questions about my sanity. Not that I'm saying I wouldn't do it, but I would at least like to ask why. Even Jesus, according to Luke (and Jesus Christ Superstar), went through a moment of doubt. It makes him human, it makes him understandable. Even more to a point, I don't deal with martyrs well. Martyrs have clay feet just as the rest of us and have their personal reasons for going to death. I can't say there aren't causes worth dying for, but I find it easier to deal with them when they show a very brief soliloquy of doubt. That's what a book is for, to show that they are human, so you can relate them, even possibly agree with them.

Unsurprisingly, the book ends with scenes straight out of Revelation. We are supposed to be impressed with a giant city and a very green lawn. My goodness, that exactly sounds like what I want heaven to look like. Oh and we had to throw some saved people in from Earth too, coincidentally exactly like how many are saved in Revelation. Surprise, surprise.

I could go into the uninspiring plot line, the cliched characters, the vapid "romances" but I think I'll just leave it as it is. I'm done with it and I never plan on reading it again. I regret the several hours I had put into actually carrying it around and reading it. That is all I have to say. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to read about Gay New Yorkians being elves in Macy's Mall during the Christmas season.

12:03am: So I spent another Friday accomplishing one thing and that was finishing a book. I'm not quite sure if I should consider that an accomplishment or a sign of my laziness. Oh well.

In any case, I went to see Shrek the Third last weekend. It was an entertaining piece of fluff which is given far too much credit then it deserves. (I am going to give this warning, though I think it's far too late for that, I'm about to go into a rant about something quite inconsequential. There will also be spoilers for the movie. So ye be warned.)

I suppose I have to begin with the fact that I have some serious prejudices against Dreamworks. First, I'm a Disney brat, I grew up watching Disney and enjoyed it immensely. More importantly my parents like Disney and I have a great deal of confidence in my parents tastes. Second, it is become particularly apparent, at least in my opinion, that Dreamworks can't think of an original plotline to save their lives, instead relying on twisting delightful Pixar movies (such as in the case of Antz or SharkTale, reference to A Bug's Life and Finding Nemo). In fact, the first Shrek was an amusing parody of Disney.

So one can see already that I have some pretty serious prejudices already putting the movie at a serious disadvantage. However, any astounding movie, like a good story, can momentarily put aside general prejudices. Shrek III is not one of those movies.

First, let's talk about the animation. Now, mind you I'm not a professional animator nor do I have an experience in that area. I have no idea how long it would take to do CGI, much less for a full-lenth movie. So while yes, there should be a certain amount of "ooh" and "ahhh" that goes into an CGI movie, I've seen much better in the new Pixar movies, like Monsters Inc. Even Dinosaur, which is an "old" movie, in a manner of speaking, is prettier than Shrek III. It's not just the prettiness of it, it's the fact that it looks far too cartoony. The best way I can describe it, is like watching a full-length version, and thus bigger budget, of a cartoon series. There was nothing particularly realistic about the animation in it.
Second, there is the plotline and adult jokes. As with all Dreamworks movies (and if there is an exception, please do correct me), they seem to forget that children will be watching this as well as parents, something Disney does not forget. While one could say that is a flaw of Disney movies, I consider it a saving grace. You learn to love the movies as a kid, and then grow to realize that there's a lot going on between the lines (The Lion King is a prefect example, for a number of reasons). Shrek III has a very adult-plotline (and now I'm quoting reviews but it is true), one we could wonder if kids that are watching will understand or care about. Adults worrying about having children, I doubt any kid under ten would really understand that, unless they live in a really interesting family situation. At least, in this movie there weren't obnoxious prepubescent boy jokes (I never have found the humor in flatulence and I am going to be snobbish, dammit, because Disney did a whole song about it without using the word once and it was damn funny). Of course, it might just be the fact that there weren't any surprises, or none that took me completely by surpise anyway, hell I was expecting more out of the plotline then they were willing to give, and that always bothers me.
Third, is the characters. Or rather the ones that do appear and those that are "just there". I'm going to quote one of the favorite movie reviewers, in that there are characters that are Not in This Movie (even though they are, but not really). First, I openly admit my favorite character of the entire movie was the wolf wearing grandmother's clothing. Don't ask me why, I just like him. Possibly because he might actually be sane (or rather, not sane enough). He is not shown nearly enough. second, the Characters that are Not in This Movie, that is Donkey and Puss, needed a lot more time in the spotlight. They were the only things (plus the awesome fight song at the climatic battle) that made the second movie. So, they're just there, along with Pinochio and others. They are replaced with Arthur. Usually I like Arthur, and references to the whole Round Table mythology. The key word is usually.

I am not impressed with Shrek's Arthur. The whole plotline that involved him was to show Shrek that he could be father, then to get them out of nasty square when they realized they would have to kill the brat off. I don't like sulky brats that are suddenly offended by everything and I don't care how justified it is, he ought to be smart enough to realize that there was a sword at his neck so of course there had to be some fast talking to save his damned neck. It did not help his case at all that the whole Arthur sequence revolved around high school. So, after making fun of Disney and Hollywood, the best the riders could think of was high school? No one cares about high school anymore, at least no one who has gone through college. It's high school, it's stupid and one gets through it. We don't particularly want to be reminded of it. Personally I think my problem was that I know way too much of the Arthurian legend for me to be impressed with the writers believed cleverness. Like the fact that Arthur is adopted (sort of) so the whole subplotline of him and losing his father his moot point. Along with the lack of Excalibur or anything remotely close to pulling a sword for a stone.

Finally, let's talk about the parodying of fairytales and Disney, especially Disney. One could say all sorts of things about trying to show girl power with the princess, but really it's just making a reference to a very bad movie that undermines feminene power completely. The villians that we are supposed to believe are only evil because they are painted evil by other stories made me want to scream. Again this goes back to the mythology of the characters, but also to the fact we have gone through the entire movie (if not two before that) showing that there are not nice people and they expect me to believe it is because others look at them as being evil, and they're really not evil at heart, and will change their carefully constructed personal image from a pretty speech by some snot-nosed brat. Yeah, right. I think I'll stick to Gregory Maguire for analysis of "evil" characters.

Now, don't get me wrong. I enjoyed the movie, I'm just not overly excited by it, nor do I, in retrospect, think it was worth the six dollars I paid to watch it. On the other hand, if you liked the first and second Shrek movies, you'll probably get a kick out of the third one.

9:32am: There is a hole in my shoe and the world keeps turning
I woke up feeling cold this morning. If there is one thing I hate more than anything, besides actually getting up in the early morning, eight o'clock classes, going to sleep to the sounds of MTV, a lack of good steaks, or days of the week that start with 'M', is waking up cold. Unlike waking up hungry, which I have done on occasion and found the situation slightly unsatisfactory, I can at least go back to sleep. But when I wake up to the fact that I'm curled up, my blankets and sheets bunched around me and I still feel frozen limbs and know that I've probably spent a great deal of the night trying to stay warm, that makes me rather peeved. This feeling is then doubled when I have to get up early for an eight o'clock exam and I can hear a droning noise in the background that I do believe is the fan my roommate has turned on, even though she has opened the window as well, letting the cold icy morning air into the room. I would also like to point out that it's not bad enough that I had to get up before eight not once, but twice, in a consecutive order for exams. Thankfully today was my last exam and I am officially done with the spring semester. Once I can feel my fingers and have another cup of coffee (and probably some more sleep) there will be much excitement and dancing and cheering and such.

In other news, the shoes that I had discovered a hole in them have "magically" disappeared to the nearest trash compactor and I have come to dismaying conclusion that I am old-fashioned emo kid. This was brought on by the fact that a friend recognizes me by two things, my brown hair and my dark clothing. The hair aside, I not totally aware of how much dark clothing I wore, until I started going through my closet based on shades. The closest thing to light-colored clothing I have is dark-pinkish sweatshirt, a white t-shirt with dark lettering covering the entire front, white and pink sleepwear, and a cream-colored jacket (that was less cream and more brown after spending far too much time in the cocoa shack). Now I am not an emo kid in the regular regard, I don't listen to heavy metal bands (though I do have a fondness for "emo" music, Panic at the Disco, Linkin Park, Evanescence, among others) and while I do wear dark-clothing there isn't any snarky statements on them (other than the occasional Shakespearean quote, which I suppose could be for or against), I do have a livejournal which is typically associated with emo kids complaining and whining about their life, which of course I don't do....well, maybe a bit. But wait, you say, don't emo kids mutilate themselves? I also don't write depressing poetry either. It's a discouraging train of thought to imagine myself with badly died black hair, wearing tight jeans that cut off circulation to my legs, a large belt made up plastic and fake diamonds, and going around campus with an ipod full of blasting depressing music that would make a puppy cry.

Or it could just be that it's freakin' cold up here and I believe that dark clothing might conserve my heat slightly better than a bright yellow tank-top. How logical.

Last but not least, my grandmother died a couple weeks back. Considered life, death, and the number 42, and then found it out I might be getting a bit of money and spent some time celebrating (the money not the death) with cake and ice cream with other IRHC members (in a completely coincidental move that it also happened to be the last meeting which involved a great deal of food, playing games, and making sure the beloved, highly adored, most annoying and too much of a smart ass for his own good President from using IRHC and next year in the same sentence).

Now I think I'm going to cry in the corner on a round table or clean my room since I'm leaving for home tomorrow. The end of the semester has never come sooner.

11:45pm: Life Marches On
So you know how I was saying something about updating during Winter Carnival? Well, it really didn't happen, as you can tell, it really didn't. In fact, there seems to be a general evil plot against me on updating on my journal. I say this because this is the third time this week that I had planned to update. Sunday I came down with my laptop, finally finding a place that I could get on the system (neither my dorm room nor the kitchenettes allow wireless laptops for internet connection) only to be distracted by a World Cultures Study Group, from the same class from me. About three kids, two guys, one girl, pouring over their notes for the exam the next day. And really, I could have stayed out, but when it's history, I get itchy fingers, in a manner of speaking. I can't help but start talking about it, especially when it is history I actually know something about. So I spent about two (maybe three?) hours talking with them, trying to sort out the religions, the philosophies, and the cultures of all the civilizations we've covered. It was nearly one o'clock by the time we had wrapped everything up and I have nine o'clock class on Monday so I said hell to trying to LJ Sunday/Monday. Yesterday, I came down only to met with a friend, a nice young man who happens to wear bright colored shirts (he was wearing neon green yesterday) and shorts in thirty degree weather, blue-eyed, short dirty blond hair and an absolute genius in chemistry and reminds me very much of my older brother. He and I got into a long discussion about everything and nothing, among them it included the running pants he was wearing, what happens when a person gets struck by lightening (which is very rare since lightening actually doesn't hit a person dead on, but sort of revolves around them) and the quietest area on campus (which is not, oddly enough, the library, but the basement of Fisher where all the physicists go to study before the final exam. If that is any sort of premonition for how physics is going to be, I am not looking forward to it, in the slightest). Again, it lasted to about twelve-thirty and I said to hell with that again, and went to bed. Today I found out that the battery had not charged and I was down to twelve minutes. Thus why extension cords were made. As I said, Someone must have had it for me not to spend a good two hours doing nothing but scribble my meandering thoughts down or it was just as series of choices that I made that caused me to hold of writing until Tuesday.
Anyway, Winter Carnival, approx. two weeks ago.

Winter Carnival was....slightly disappointing. I worked the entire night of the All-Nighter in the cocoa shack, from seven to midnight, with no heat for the last hour and a half to two hours. The All-Nighter, for those ignorant of the Ways of Michigan Techers, is when everyone (more or less anyway) on campus goes out and helps put up snow statue which will then be judged during the night/following morning. At the same time, there was free chili (which was very good, though not nearly spicy enough), ice skating on the rinks when broomball wasn't going on, and temperatures about zero Fahrenheit, with about a negative twenty wind chill. Not a good night for the sober ones. Very good night for the drunken mob. I, alas, never even got a touch of alcohol, or at least not enough to get even pleasantly buzzed, which had not been in my plans. On a cold night like that, when the bastards next to use had blown our fuses twice because they plugged into the same electrical outlet as us, and my entire legs (including my thighs) were going stiff, I would have liked something to at least keep part of me happy. But we were seriously understaffed, horribly so. So I missed out on the second most important part of Winter Carnival the hangover from the drinking. I am not terribly heart-broken. Generally the night went fairly smoothly, with the exception of me grabbing whoever came through the door and sent them working on something (I spent at least twice during the night, alone in the cocoa shack and I wonder why I have knots in my shoulders), with perhaps two noticeable incidents, both involving very smashed sods. First, was my very first make-out proposal.
Guy, who looks fairly drunk (fuzzy eyes and not quite steady feet) comes up the shack. I hand him some free hot cocoa, turn to pour another. He gulps it down, "This is excellent cocoa. Want to make-out?"
I, politely (because he was a drunken sod and he was sort of cute), turned him down, without any profanity, which I attest to my self-discipline (with nothing to do with the fact that I was taken aback and I sort of sputtered around for an answer that did not come from my baser brain).
The second incident involved another man coming up for cocoa with a lager of pink wine in one hand and two bottles of empty Jack Daniels in his pockets. One could smell the alcohol seeping from all the way from the back of the sack.

Despite the cold and the lost heater, it was a good night. The rest of the weekend does not hold much commentary. I worked in the shack, I slept, and I watched movies. Of them, one included an old Disney favorite, Duck Tales. Watching that movie, was a reminder of my childhood. It's a cute movie, nothing too deep here people, but it has some amusing jokes. Plus, it was free. There were two things I distinctly remembered as a child watching it. First was the sound effects. They were awesome, I mean, truly awesome and awe-inspiring. Every time feet landed, there would be a flapping sound and, well, it was just an awesome sound. Second, was at one point one of the nephews wishes for a giant ice cream sundae. Even the ice cream falling from the sky made a sound, and it was tasty-looking ice cream at that.

One would think that my mind is totally focused on food. It is not. Usually. Sometimes. Most of the time. Kind of.

Like right now, my mind is currently stressing over the fact that I have two more exams this week and I seem to have picked up a cold that is growing a nice home in my throat. No doubt this might sound sexy to some guys, the husky feminine voice, but right now it just hurts every time I swallow. Orange juice, soup, and water here I come. And of course it appears on the week where I need the most energy. Chalk up one for Murphy's Law. Myself: zero.

9:13pm: Boys, Men, and the area in between
So yesterday was the Super Bowl, Bears vs. Colts. Straight to the point, the Bears lost. But, in a way, that wasn't the entire point of watching. Oh, sure, it would have been to watch the Bears trounce the Colts (actually a little bit more than fun), but it was a close game up until the third quarter and the Bears lost a field goal, and I mean just lost it. At that point, you could tell their heart just wasn't in it. Plus Grossman, the quarterback, wasn't on top of his game. He's usually much better. Ah well, back to the point of other than the game. First, my companions of the hour(s). Intelligently, I sat by other Bears fans. Now, these weren't terribly die-hard, gung-ho, beat 'em up Bears FANS (the ones that make you feel either ashamed of even liking football in general, or put out as much energy that you can't help but go along with the ride, a couple of beers probably helps too), this is Tech after all and I was around a dry zone. Lot's of free food though, so I wasn't terribly disappointed. Now I knew one of those guys in the group, he's another Jake in our hall, but besides that I didn't know anyone. Actually, that was another interesting bit. There ot a lot of girls, other than girlfriends and a couple of tables (that were very far and inbetween, and sort of disappeared come half-time) in general. Am I the only one who considers football a perfectly respectable lust indulgence?

That is not a question that necessarily needs to be answered.

However, in my two, maybe three years, of watching football, I've picked up enough of the game so that I wasn't constantly asking who the hell a linebacker, quarterback, and why did the other team get two points again? Of course I got rather lost when the group started talking about a famous trophy that quite a few Michigan quaterbacks won (yeah, big whoop there). But what I was ignorant in, I made up in sheer enthuisasm. As Nick (a rather striking Italian mix, we got along fabuluously, and probably far more than we should have) told one of the other guys, "she has more enthusiastic than you." I took that as the best compliment of the night. Though the Colt fans probably bet me. There was a whole table of black kids (I debate whether to use African American, but considering some might have been from, lets say, the Bahamas, I will leave it at the fact that they were a delicious dark chocolate color) were rooting for the Colts put me to shame.

The second part of the night, actually third counting the free food (chips, popcorn, mozzarella sticks, pizza, tap root beer, spicy chicken wings) was the commercials. Youtube has a delightful collection of them. I would say it was a pretty good overall showing of them. There were a bit too many local/CBS commercials for my taste but the funny ones more than made up for it. I had three favorites that absolutely made my night. The first involved two greasy monkeys suddenly finding themselves kissing and because they need to prove their straightness since they're a zero on the Kinsey scale when they're probably actually around five and about as straight as corkscrew (joking by the way, except about the kiss and them deciding to be straight, this is the straight-laced country of the stars and stripes and rigid straight as arrow) and pull chest hair off. Now if my compatriots were uncomfortable then, the next commercial with men suddenly splashing (in various starts of, how might we say, undress, including one man in, I could've sworn, a speedo) against a car, that about threw them over the edge. There was much debate about whether it would be worth pulling ones eyeballs out so that they may not see that site again. Then the game started again and the debate was dropped. I can honestly say I smirked. It's not as if I had any problem with seeing half-naked men (mind you, on a car and obviously not in shape, that was not a fantasy, but I have never complained about the half-naked women that trounce across the tv screen which is the opposite end for fantasy). The last commercial was a delightful jab at Brett Farve and saying good bye to football. My words can not give it justice. Let's just say, it made watching the Bears loss almost worth it.

Life Update: So vacation went by. Nothing particularly noteworthy happened during that period. Unless one counts reading books as earth-shattering and emotionally appealing (and as much as a book reader I am, I would even find that stretching the truth, and no, don't you dare quote Picture of Dorian Grey to me). School started about four-ish weeks ago and my roommate and I are currently in a detente (or more, accurately, a truce of sorts). Non-communication is a wonderful thing. More importantly Winter Carnival is this week. Winter Carnival, for those ignorant of the ways of the Michigan Techers (both current students and the alumni), is four days where the whole purpose is to get as drunk as godly possible. The excuse is that its freakin' cold outside and alcohol is a natural warmer. Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. I plan to work the Cocoa Shack and give it out free hot chocolate to freezin' drunkards (or broomball players). Will come up with news soon.

3:58pm: Mondays and I never did get along
So its the finals week up here in "da' UP". I spent my entire weekend more or less studying, though not as much as I would have liked. XP I know it was more than ten hours altogether, which I suppose isn't all that brutal, but it was almost all math (yay calculus and chemistry....not). I sort of burned myself out because today I had almost no energy to look at my books, I seriously do mean even looking at them. Major guilt trip, on the other hand I won't have any problem studying tomorrow (my first exam being on Wednesday, yay freshmen classes!). Mgh, I could say that I actually tried to do work and digested the intense study-haul I did over the weekend but mostly I just played games on my computer and found this most fascinating website that describes unsuggested reading, that is books you would not read if you had this book on your shelves. It amused me for far too long to go through a list and scratch off books that I had indeed read, even though it was "unsuggested".

I also came across something that was perhaps very strange. Though I have very much enjoyed college, in fact there were some times that I was so glad I came up here and I could have burst into song (er, that is metaphorically speaking since I would not necessarily wish to have anyone in hearing distance be graced with my...peculiar singing ability) but there have also been times when college life was perhaps even more painful than high school particularly when my roommate has been listening to Flogging Molly's for seven days straight and she has just played Green Fields of France/Willie MacBride that I have heard by the Irish Tenors (hough I suppose it's not her fault that there are singers out there that actually can hit the high *and* low notes without falling on heavy bass beats and drums to make up for it which of course takes away from the heart-wenchingness of the song) or that it's been the second night that I've fallen asleep past two o'clock in the morning. Sunday night/Monday morning I had the greatest of pleasures of listening to my roommate talk about how much of a bitch I was on her cellphone (an incident that I think I would not wish on my worst enemy). Thus I spent very long time in an emotional struggle on whether I wanted to be angry, sad, or exhilerated because she finally understood how I felt about the whole situation between us. And this all over the fact that I locked the door when she had left (though as she continued talking it also had to do with the fact that I had turned on the lights, though I have no memory of doing such a thing when she was sleeping, aka it was eleven o'clock and I needed to find something, and that I leave the door open while she is napping while she's sleeping, again read it is three o'clock in the afternoon and I like to talk to people in my hall). Of course she is entirely faultless and everything I do, is of course, directly related to the fact that I want to piss her off, because, you know, I am entirely shallow that way. *snort*
After that "shocking" conversation I couldn't exactly go back to sleep since my self-esteem was doing a little crying fit and I needed to sooth it's blessed emo heart. I think the fact that she came back into the room and realized I was on the computer when fifteen minutes ago I appeared to be sleeping momentarily set her ajar, but that might be 1)wishful thinking and 2)actually having her think about her actions, which could be a debatable question. Now this isn't exactly a new incident, although hearing her actually come out and complaining in my hearing is perhaps a new step and this sort of "I have issues with what you do but I'm not going to tell you so I just have to psychically figure out how I'm pissing you off" (gee I do believe this is passive-aggressive, and I'm sorry to say, it's become a war of attrition because I can be just as passive-aggressive as she, which shows just how foolish the two of us are becoming, tch) has been going on since she moved in. But, you know, somewhere along the way I started thinking over and over a mantra, "And this too shall pass." Now for the longest time I thought this came from Lord of the Rings, it has that same sort of insignificant, despairing and yet hopeful ring to it. The problem was I could never remember where I had read/heard it (darn those movies for mixing up my quotes, now whenever I hear Pippen's song I think Fellowship of the Ring where it actually is sung, by Frodo if I do believe, in a wildly different scenario, *thunks head against book*). Imagine my surprise when I found it my mantra, my philosophy with dealing with certain frustrating roommates actually comes from a parable about Solomon, thus probably Jewish. I know, I'm bewildered by it as you since now I can't, for the life of me, figure out where I had heard this quote and how it's connected with King Solomon. King Solomon, for those of us, including my aethesist roommate (who, from another conversation I "eavesdropped" on, had a real religious nut for a roommate last year, obviously her prejudice against those that actually are sort of curious about Christianity has carried over, or maybe it's just me in particular and nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I like God and briefly tangled with Catholics, mind you it was a brief entanglement all the same) was one of David's son (David from David and Goliath and if I have to explain that story that I am in trouble because then I start making noises about the probably than platonic relationships between David and Jonathen, the king's son, and well, yes it just get confusing) and was considered to be one of the wisest and richest and most powerful (somehow that made it okay for him to have a harem ..... ) of the "United Monarchy", basically where the tribes of Jews lived in ye old ancient-y times. Mind you, this is from a Christian/Jewish point of view, damned if I know what the Islam view of him is. He's got about three chapters in the Bible, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Solomon (the last one being pure porn, poetic porn, but porn all the same) and maybe a couple of Psalms. Maybe I read it from there, who knows. In any case I have found the most awesome catch-phrase in Hebrew ever.
"Gam zeh ya'avor"

And this too shall pass.

By, the by, I'm going to be home on Friday. Celebration anyone?

10:09pm: Social Life
So I have two things that have been bothering me in sort of a peripherally way and now have sort of just landed on top me and I realized I need to do something about them, or at least attempt to. First is, and this sounds so terribly original, about a boy. Actually, I should say a young man, rather than one of "my boyos" (that is the young men that I hang around with, usually about my age if not a couple years older, but my age if you know what I mean). I met this guy, oh, I don't know awhile back, maybe in November? Maybe early November, after I had come back from the Halloween weekend and I decided to be in a social sort of mood (yes, despite otherwise information, I actually do know how to be a social butterfly...ish), and he was sitting next to the a window for a view of the road, so worse comes to worse, I could watch people walk around looking pathetic and harried. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing to do what he looked like. I mean yeah, he's sort of cute, long, almost gangly but grown into his limbs, sort of muscled, brunet and dreamy sort of brown eyes. Only I think they're just drug-induced from one too many dips in the "sweetgrass". What do you do with a guy that might likes you but you really shouldn't like in return? I mean argh! He's twenty-five (given that means he might actually be the same maturity level as me) but he's in another relationship (though he says they're "separated" and that he is perfectly agreeable to seeing another people...which such a masculine view of a way out of a relationship that I could not begin to find words to describe how arrogant that sounded) with an adopted kid! *sigh* Even worse I've met his "partner" (and I use that word loosely) and his kid. Anyway for awhile I thought we'd see each irregularly from then on, or, as I float down the river of da' Nile, thought we could "just talk". I completely blame my hormones and my attraction to experienced older men, dammit I've just been taken on a ride that I intellectually know won't be any good. Dammit, I do know better than this. So I've talked to him one or two other times, once he came by the kitchenette and said hello and asked if I wanted to go to a fraternity with him. Thankfully my hormones were being completely shut down by the higher powers of STUDYNOWARGHHOMEWORK! set in and turned him down flat, in fact if I recall I didn't even offer going to one in the distant future. As much as I might, might mind you, like this guy, I don't trust him, not in the slightest, especially around alcohol. My mother gave me some sense. However, in my moment of weakness/distraction, I gave him a phone number. Unfortunately the number I gave him was not my phone number. I realized that as I listed off, but then I thought, fuck that, I don't think he's going to ever call me (or that number) so no harm, no foul. Heh, tempting fate that. Yeah, no psychic power there but he did call and it happened to be my mother's cellphone. Oops. So now I have to decide exactly where the lines should be drawn in this relationship, or whatever the fuck we have. Also when I called him to make sure he took off my mother's phone number, I asked him what was so important to call me? Guess what, he needed someone to talk to him during dinner because he had broken up (a thing not entirely uncommon by my estimate) with his "partner". He spent a great deal of time bitching about how difficult the relationship between them is. At that point I was trying, being a good listener that I was, to figure out exactly what was the problem. Then I just threw my hands up, metaphorically, and said goodbye. Meh, I think I'll take care of it after exams. He's not worth that much.

That was my first pet peeve. Heh, my I have a lot to rant over. So anyway, my second deals with the world of fanfiction (which is an almost inexhaustible section), specifically Japanese vocabularly. Now I've wondered an anime fanfiction here and there. It's unpleasant, the writing tends to be childish, very much not canon, and focused on things that have been written on stuff that is not only uninteresting (at least to me) but rehashed so many times that originality is lost to pure crap. Can you sense my bitterness? Anyway, I decided to venture, carefully, into that area again and do some research to maybe pinpoint in the right direction of good fics. I came across some vocabulary that was particularly interesting. Okay, raise your hands if you know what slash fiction is? It's, generally, sexual or romantic (sometimes the difference is extraordinary) relationship between two guys, sometimes it's between two girls, but typically (and for our purposes and focus) for guys. But wait, you say, it is a sin for two males to be together and not canon and...and...! Well that's because it's a fanfiction term and fanfiction is fanfiction, the writers use their own interpretation of canon (which is sometimes not necessarily inaccurate as you might believe, although all the horrors you can think of are probably out there). However, the Japanese have their own terminology for "slash", and a much older history to boot. Even better, these words don't necessarily have to be just be in fanfiction world, but used throughout Japanese popular media. There are two phrases that fanfiction writers like the most, yaoi and shounen-ai. To writers they seem to be interchangeable. They are NOT! First shounen-ai has become an obsolete term, at least according to Japanese (who, gee, sort of used that term first and actually know exactly what it means). Second, if we put the fact that shounen-ai is obsolete aside for a moment, a story with yaoi is different from shounen-ai. By the way you can all find this on wikipedia, which can follow to several sources elsewhere. A yaoi story has sex, very descriptive sex scenes. Shounen-ai typically is not as descriptive as yaoi and has adolescent or prebescent boys in a romantic relationship with each other. Reading between the lines, can anyone say pedophile? A pity no one explained this to the fan girls. Anyway the new term is BoysLove (with various grammatical versions). What's really sad is that this came from looking a summary (a summary of all things!) in Lord of the Rings, I think it was a Frodo/Sam story that had the term shounen-ai in it and I decided that I need to find out exactly why that usage was wrong. I'm afraid of what I will do if I go on an official tangent.

11:11am: There are different levels of dead
Several pieces of good news. First I found my phone in the first place I figured it would be (e.g. the last place I would ever look, or is that reversed?), that is the biology building. Thankfully it looks like no one decided to do prank phone calls using it, as there were no very weird numbers in the dial log. Second piece of good news, Democrats are in the majority. BOOYEAH BABY! Actually what amuses me far more is that Montana voted Democratic. The campaign over there has been very entertaining and if anyone knows anything about Montana, this is a fairly big move for them. Disappointed with Tennessee though, they had good man that should have been voted into office. Ah, should've, would've, could've eventually add up to nothing. Heh, the Bush administration is trying to be soothing already by FINALLY "retiring" Donald Rumesfield. Gee, wonder what made them decide to do that? Third, I have found the most wonderful little room to study in, free of rent, wireless connectivity, and the house contains a garden within it. No kitties, but everything else about is perfect. I spent an hour sitting on the bed and savoring the silence.

I have been slightly distracted of late. I blame the fact that I finished reading 'American Gods' by Neil Gaiman. It is as disturbing, provoking, and delightful as I first remember it. This is one of these books, the first time through, that really stretches your comfort level. It questions a lot of what America believes in and why it believes in it. It deals with gods, all of them, that came to America, hitchhiking on immigrant's imaginations and dreams, and planting themselves into the raw soil of America. The edges are raw, reality a little too sharp for comfort, and we go through the book half-understanding everything, unable to grasp all of the references. Which leads to my problem with me reading this book. I want to take it to the library and go through it, chapter by chapter, and try to figure out every single one of his references, follow those myths and see how accurate his portrayal of them are and what else did they do. Curiously, and it has just occurred to me, there is no reference of the Greek/Roman pantheon.

My roommate has picked up a peculiar habit. For almost every single day this week, I have woken up to see her on the computer, and when I come back in the afternoon she is sleeping. I assume she might have slept in the night but I have no evidence to say otherwise. It's sort of weird to get ready while she's on the laptop, mindlessly staring at it. On the other hand, my sentience ability in the morning is about that of a zombie, so maybe it is just morning paranoia creeping in before the coffee hits. I've also come to this revelation (though since all revelations are personal, they are all suspect, thank you Bast) from American Gods, my roommate is partly dead. There are different types of dead, at least according to this book and perhaps this is going off into a weird tangent that has nothing to do with reality but bear me out. There are different types of dead, there is the dead that is in the grave but not forgotten, the forgotten dead, and the living dead, the ones that walk the line to death but are still physically alive. My roommate is horribly unhappy. When I go to eat, on the occasion that she goes as well, she is sitting by herself. There are rarely visitors the come by to see her and, so far, there has been only one constant. She is unhappy and angry and bitter, her hatred kills herself slowly. Something inside her is slowly rotting away and I wonder if it is her heart. I could almost pity her, if I didn't have to live with her. Pity is all well and good but is an emotion that is best felt when you are distanced from the event or person that is pitied. Or she didn't try to threaten me. I do believe that will be a story I will forever keep dear to my heart. I almost feel grateful to her. Actually, no, I'm not. That was just my stomach growling. Mmm, think I will go and satisfy it.

11:27pm: Lost Items
In a long string of things that just have not been going my way, I somehow have misplaced my cellphone. The irony, that the time when I actually desperately need it, the cellphone in question has disappeared, has not been lost to me.
Other than that, life continues on. I have found myself contemplating over angels and demons, gods and immortals. That is I've been reading Neil Gaiman again. There is a spark in me that hungers for something. Oh it can be soothed with the beautiful written word, a picturesque painting of words, a series of math problems or chemical equations, but it still doesn't sooth it. It's a hunger for adventure, suspense, something in a story that will keep my on the edge of my seat, waiting to see if the character ends up being caught, which is really half the fun of any story, and what would happen if he (or she) does.

There is a poetry slam coming up. I need to see if there's any poetry worth saying. It has been a long time since I wrote poetry, a very long time indeed.

12:03pm: I died, but I got better!
Er, much better today. Sleep is a definite miracle worker. Anyways, I perhaps need to explain about the shrink I have seen (among other things). Waaaaaaaay back during orientation week I decided to check in with the counseling services, have some feelers in that direction so that if I find myself going off the homicidal but cheerfully insane disposition (which is entirely different from going off the deep end) and my tendencies for harm turn inwardly I can go to the happy white house (yes, the counceling place is in a white...house, goes well with the happy pink pills, heh) and break down in a gush of mucus and tears. As opposed to doing it embarrisingly in front of those males of our species who get quite uncomfortable around tears (hell they look uncomfortable if I even look unhappy, oh happy malicious thoughts on people). So I go over, I make a meeting, I charm and look vulnerable, etc. They then hand me over to a counselor. Mind you, this isn't an actual shrink shrink. They have one but I gather he/she (I think it's a woman >>) isn't around very often, which should tell you a lot about the people up here. (We're all untreated psychotics.) So I say hello to him, do my paperwork which involves answering questions like what pills do you take, issues you have, stress in life. Then he starts rambling on when I mentioned depression on that many people get it when the weather turns cold and there isn't a lot of sun. And, to his logical mind, it is because of their ancestory, since depression causes a person not to do much (in some ways yes, in other ways, well, suicide is doing something alright) and so makes living through famine easier......If my depression happened to come through that line I could certainly believe that logic. However it comes from my Mom, who probably got it from both her parents, one who is Italian.
.....
Yep, lot's of famine and coldness in Italy. Really.
Secondly, I adore ruckus. It's a download site and I have Wicked on my computer. Oh the happy days.
Finally, I will be gone this weekend. Which is why I was looking forward to one more day mantra. My parents are "kidnapping" me, really I am being dragged away against my will. The fact that I have already packed my duffle and started counting down hours to when I leave is a total sign of my reluctance to leave.
Right, we're leaving to Eagle River, nice little resort where I am going to sleep in a room without noise. No noise, not even the fishbowl that my roommate brought (along with a tv, stereo, two extra desks, a small La-z-Boything chair, a microwave that is contained within a shelfthing, and a metal rack in the bathroom). Is there anyway I can kill Mtv by the way? NO, don't say anything. If it has managed to survive this long, even after losing it's main purpose, that is to play music, it will never die. Mrgh.
Hopefully I will be better at updating, if nothing else to stretch out my imagination which has become rather sucked up by sciences. I think I need to have a talk to it about having dreams about classes. Bad sign that.

11:32pm: Long, hard days
I am tired. I am so unbelievably exhausted it is not even funny. I want to go and sleep in a corner long that when I wake up I will be happy and energetic. This has been an extremely long week and I still have one more day left to it (silver lining, only two classes). I didn't sleep well last night, which might be a small contribution to my exhaustion right now. Because of that I was late to class, kept snoozing my alarm clock and forgot I had an eight o'clock class (thank you nightmares for scaring the bejeezus out of me for missing classes). Fortunately for my sanity, the class was only about plagiarism and cheating and blah-blah-blah. I started daydreaming about a food before adrenaline kicked in and I remembered I should try to look repentant. Methinks I should drop by the shrink again (though this was the guy who said that Depression came from northern European roots in order to stave of famine....I think he and I were on very different pages) though maybe I should just try to get breakfast again and sleep. Sleep is good...
Yes, where was I? Oh yes, then I had a Chemistry Exam. Distantly I think a part of me is still in a catatonic state. While it perhaps wasn't that bad, it wasn't nice, not nice in the slightest. Like cold tea or something that involves food gone cold or too tough. Mmmm, steak.
Oh dear, I am actually paying attention to what's on the tv I think I shall go to bed and get up with my alarm. Yes, good resolution.


One more day. One more day.

2:12am: Superdickery.com
I got persuaded, that is bullied and puppy-eyed and pushed into seeing Superman Returns. Let me first begin with my background of Superman. I.Don't.Like.Him. I have, actually, read some of his comic books, at an age where seeing people die, being bloodied up, and have the world be generally destroyed, was sort bad for my imagination (now I wonder how I got to be so morbid). Later on, they made an animated series, which, I suppose, wasn't too bad. If only because it was a very good cartoon show and had just some fun characters (though if given the choice I always opted for Batman, even if the animation got stranger and stranger). Generally though, there isn't much about Superman that attracts me, except for the fact that he has dark hair and blue eyes. I have a partial weakness for those types of men.
Anyways, so I go to this movie, already feeling quasi-biased. However, I figure that either I will love it or it will be so bad I can laugh throughout.
.....
You know what I got? I got sitting in the theater far too long than that movie deserved and making sure I didn't react, that is laugh/"spaz out" too loudly/disruptedly. The thing is about the movie is, looking over it, it's not that good. There is no fire between Superman and Lois Lane. I've seen fire, there is a space between lovers in movies, the way they look at each other, act around each other. Maybe it's the fact that Superman was gone for five years (though he only looks about thirty, and that's stretching it, which makes me reeeeeeally question the relationship between Lois and Supes) that causes them to have such a bland spark. I don't know, even when they were in the air there wasn't the same sort of pizaz there should have been. On the other hand, maybe I was just too tired and too jaded (and perhaps having seen Casablanca one too many times) so I totally missed it. There was also Clark Kent's age. He looks far too damned young. Hell, everyone does. One has to imagine that he had been on Earth long enough to gain a fairly good reputation (though perhaps it wasn't long enough as the American public is supposedly fical about their heroes). And don't even get me started on Jimmy, who looked far too old. If you can believe that. The characters did not appeal to me at all and I have a problem with father-son passing on movies. At one point they compared a father and son to that of two crystals! wtf? Does the mother not have any say in how the boy is grown up or are we just going to put them on the side, since they're all human and thus unable to do anything but look worried and get in trouble (which sort of describes all, three, of the women in the movie, argh). Lois' kid scared the crap out of me, by the way. I kept expecting him to take out a knife and stab Lois. That sort of creepiness.

I know this is a DC universe. Hell, I rejoice when Batman and Superman get together on screen. I am totally all for it. But what I absolutely hate is a mention of the Batman universe just to remind the audience that, yes, we do own Batman too. I want to see Supes in Gotham. If you're going to mention it, I want to see him it, not just as passing note. It annoys me because Gotham IS Batman's city. He knows who comes in, comes out, and tries to take care of it. There has never been any sign, ever, that he would be okay in letting Supes just waltz in and save a couple of people without at least talking to the red spandex alien (speaking of spandex, heh, we made far too much fun about the poor kid wearing it, there are certain items on a male body that should be carefully watched when wearing spandex).

Meh, there were a lot of things like that. Stuff you don't realize bother you and then you get to the end, and you realize you could have spent better time staring at the wall than at the movie. No excitment, whatsoever. I did, however, like the newsboss. Wish we had seen more of him.

11:05pm: Summary
So it's been really busy and to tell you the truth I haven't had much of the energy/ability to write. I managed to survive orientation week (yes, survive describes it very well. They, that is the people of Michigan Tech, cram events one right after another in hopes that freshmen will not think of home, or become too tired too.). Some highlights.
Five hundred banana split. FIVE Hundred foot.Hmmmmm.
A bunch of bio students tried to make a "stage" out of straws and mascot tape (emphasize on try). Failure sort of describes it, but not quite to the scale that happened.
Improvably Funny (think 'Whose Line is It Anyways' on stage. With hot guys. And sex references. Lot's and lot's of sex references).
I went to my first Catholic Mass.

Now I need to explain a little bit more about the Catholic Mass thing. I'm in college, I figure this is my time to experiment without serious consequences (knock on wood). Plus, I have a personality problem, that is I'm horribly curious. Plus it was on a Wednesday so I could humiliate myself in front of a small group (and no it had nothing to do with the fact that a certain boy is Catholic and happens to like going to that church, absolutely not....). First thing I realized walking in that I got the major hint that this was not the church for me was that everyone genuflected in front of the cross. I know there's a good reason behind it (there's always a good reason behind Catholic tradition) but that involves getting on one knee and then getting up. On bad day, when my knee is sore, that's up there with running. Second was the almost continual use of the word 'hell' and 'sin'. Whether Catholics believe it or not, I felt there was a connection that being sinful and going to hell. Hmmmm. I've dealt with hell before but I had gotten the impression that one's sins had been forgiven when Jesus died. Now where hell fits into that is certainly a good question, but I prefer going with Greeley, in which there is no actual 'hell' (and going with Gaiman, that hell is merely a place you make exist, not the other way around), but purgatory where you go through your decisions, etc and whatever. Third, I had a communion, with very sour wine. But that wasn't the problem, the problem was that I forgot that I couldn't have communion unless I was Catholic because I was (in verbatim, more or less of the Sister that I talked to after service) that I was not taking the agreement seriously. Now I imagine that is probably true through all the churches, so that's my fault for not standing down, but communion is a remainder of God, of Jesus, of his forgiveness, something I haven't had in a very long time. Besides it reminded me of good times in the church. Ah well, I got away with a scold in the end, so I could have gotten worse and I'm not complaining. Fourth, and that might be, in the end, my problem with church in general, was the pronunciation of amen. I think "amen" is a soft "a". Ah-Men. Everyone said A-Men. I can't say why it bothers me so much, but it does, it does. *goes into a fit* Aargh.
Chance of returning: Medium
Becoming official member of Catholic Church: Low.

Found out about my roommate (though not from talking to me. We might have hit the hundred word mark, but I seriously doubt it). She is liberal, likes CSI and House, and is going into Mechanical Engineering. She is also on academic probation (that is less than a 3.0), taking 12 credits (thus explaining why she is always in the room, and I do mean always), and sleeps through her classes. Now I heard this because she was talking about this right in front of me, given I was on the computer trying to do homework, with a young man (scruffy) at almost one o'clock at night. I finally asked them to leave, and I can't decide if I was being too stern/serious/patronizing or maybe it was just because I was asking them to leave or she didn't know me well (and if one were to look at my stuff, there's actually not that much to go by, I have rubber duckies, books, lots of books, William Shakespeare bobble-head and school stuff, everything hidden in drawers and closets), so she sort of was cool and didn't actually, now that I think about, say yes to leaving. I feel so loved.

On the other hand, I got to referee frisbockey (I could explain, but I think...it's just too complicated to go into, honest to God). That was fun. More importantly my stick is back! <3 stick.

11:04pm: Lookie what I did

My Personality

Neuroticism	42
Extraversion	22
Openness To Experience	80
Agreeableness	26
Conscientiousness	61

Find your MySpace/Xanga/Hi5 soulmate / pysch twin Test Yourself Compare Yourself View Full Report MySpace Surveys, Xanga and Friendster by Pulseware Survey Software

7:39pm: The State is OUT to get me.
Alright, so in a fairly intelligent move, Mom and I decided that I should get a state identification. I don't have drivers licence (which is good for "global warming", bad if I want to show I.D. for checks), so, hey, instead of showing my passport or college I.D., let's get something official but not valuable. I should mention right off the bat, it seemed simple. Easy, relatively. Really, it did.

So we pop (read, drive thirty minutes), to the DMV in Madison, where they give out state ID's. We wait for an hour. Yes, a goddamnfuckin' hour. On the other hand, they had rocking seats where I could lean the back of the seat. There was also this raw-boned man, with a black rain coat, it's interior being neon green, and a baseball hat that lay on top of the crown of his head (but only the edges, as if it were several sizes too small and so could only manage to fit precariously) and reminded me of the stereotypical fishermen of men (or at least my view of them). I could not figure out why, of all places, he was in Madison. Arizona I could understand, but Madison?

When we got called up to the desk, I was first scolded for not having my birth certificate, since I figured my passport would be more than enough (obviously, somehow, one can fake a passport much more easily than a birth certificate, of course....), then I needed my official social security card, when they only asked for my number (I had a reprint of my social security card because like hell I was actually going to bring my real one) and lastly, this elderly chap did not recognize my Michigan Tech I.D. WTF!!!!!!!!????? Because he does not see Michigan Tech college students, he will not recognize my I.D. Not only is that a slur against me, but it says that my school is not nearly as impressive, as say, one from freakin' UW. To add insult to injury he flung my ID back at me, as if it was totally worthless. MY COLLEGE EDUCATION IS WORTHLESS! No, it does not matter that Michigan Tech is an extremely highly rated school in the entire freakin' country, that it has some of the highest graduation in the freakin' country, and has one of the best colleges to prepare a student for higher education/a job. But because some yahoo who probably does not even know where his ass is without someone pointing it out, does not recognize it, I can't use my college I.D. as valid identification. He was also not happy, as in frowned again, for being born in Illinois. SORRY, I was not born in cheese-head country, what a horrible state of being.

All right, so maybe I'm counterfeiting my college I.D. Yep and I am counterfeiting my bank account, which he also didn't accept because I haven't written any checks in the last month. Well, gee, I've been away at college. Why would I want to write checks when I have no steady income coming in? He, though, reassured me, that all of this was to avoid I.D.'s given out falsely. Because, obviously, you can do so much with a falsified state I.D. Like, vote, and start bank accounts, and goodness knows how much other dangerous, terrorist activities.

I could have cried. Actually I did, but not in front of him, I managed to restrain myself until we got to our van. Good, solid, that does not give judgments about my university because it isn't from Wisconsin, van.

Just to show you how on happy the state of Wisconsin is with me, I decided to buy a 'University of Illinois' five-subject notebook. It was bright yellow and it came from Illinois. I will be going to a Michigan University. It amused me. The computer didn't recognize it. Even though it was checked, the computer would not recognize the serial number.

I wanted to go home and eat chocolate and not think about the disaster that makes up most of today. Seriously the state is evil. It hates me. You know what Wisconsin? I hate you too! UP YOURS!

P.S. I have large amounts of chocolate. There is going to be some serious consumption.

7:41pm: I shall RETURN!
So if you hadn't known, I've been off to Scotland and then, after a barely significant break, and currently staying at Michigan Tech for summer session classes. It's been...interesting. Possibly more thoughts, but it's hard to describe. Loneliness though, clings to me, despite attempts, like a silken weight, pretty but weighing. Still I've changed, slightly. I've decided weight training is the most wonderful thing to do as an exercise, almost as fun as swimming. Besides the fact that's competition against yourself, and it involves a tingly pain that's rather refreshing through your entire body (stomach fat begone!), but there are men. Hot sweaty men stretching, straining, and moving those large sleek pectoral and thigh muscles. My, is it getting sweaty in here or what?
Yeah, so, really it's all about the exercise. Yessiree.
'Sides that, I've been going on the internet to mindlessly distract myself from the piles of math and discovered that youtube.com will work on my computer. I've decided that the original Batman series (the one of the '90's) is still as awesome as when I first saw it. Animation is nice, but more importantly, it's dark. The coloring, the plots, the characters. There's an edge to it you just don't see anymore. Not on any tv series, and remember this was for kiddies. Where did we go wrong? Second thing I decided that I find cat eyes, that is animated characters with cat's eyes, distractingly attractive. This came about from watching ThunderCats.
Yes, I actually remember that show. It's so bad, the syncapation between voices and movements is horrible, the dialogue is somewhere between CareBears and Biblical (sickening sweet versus moral of the week), the plot is simple and uninteresting, and the characters are so predictable you can set a watch by their reactions. It is as funny as hell. Plus, what I can say? It's a cartoon about humanoid cats, I can't say I don't like it. Besides Lion-O, main character/star/hero/punching bag, has red hair. When have you seen a hero have bright red hair? That's what I thought.
Anyways, I will not be on the computer in the next couple of weeks. I'll have my phone on, and my house will be open to all and sundry visitors. Come over for biscuits and tea, and a cynical disposition (well, you can enjouy the first two at least). Someone knows my cellphone, if not, call home phone. I'll be around, usually. I hope.
If my parents aren't plotting, which I know they are *shifty-eyed*
So, if I get a chance to come on-line I will continue my thoughts on interesting (or it could be read as BAD) cartoons and anything that pops in my head at the moment.

7:57pm: the walking DEAD
So yes, I'm back *waves* And I am totally exhausted. It's a nine hour time difference between here and Scotland so it's early in the morning. I'm not pleasant and I think I smell. *sniffs* Check that, I do smell and I feel grimy and everytime I look in the mirror I see another white, pulsing, disgusting pimple someplace arkward.
It's funny. My goal upon coming home was to go to my room and read stories that I had hoped were updated and just stuff. I mean that was my driving force that kept me awake was that I had to have enough energy to read fun stories. I don't even have enough energy to click the website, much less actually comprehend what's being written. Oh well.
The plan ride itself wasn't bad. Long and exhausting but it could have been much, much worse. Now I think I'm going to sleep before I pass out in front of my computer. Not that that's a bad option since I'm thinking about it.

11:27pm: Muses
I am not feeling well at all. My throat hurts, my head throbs, and my meds have worn off so the little voices are talking like there's no tomorrow (course that might be true but don't tell them that). On the other hand, Mazel Tof! Congradulations, I have graduated from high school.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Yeah, it's that exciting for me too. I have one last hoop that I need to do and then I can say 'kiss my ass suckers and go screw yourselves'. Not that I would say that. Because I am not bitter about high school, not in the slightest. Right.
Moving on, I have a couple of muse ideas that have been rattling in my head. First is an old one from Highlander. Which is sort of an alternative universe where Duncan is an Immortal but there isn't a Game but there is tv series. Eh, or something like that. I'm still trying to figure out whether I can persuade the muse not to have Methos and Duncan go out like bunnies half way through the plot. It's not being happy about it.
Second is Full Metal Alchemist. I adore Ed. He's become my idol. *sigh* Or rather my lust magnet. Samething really. *cough* Currently, I have an idea of Hughes saving Ed and Al's respective (and, in a certain case, fine-looking) asses. The other idea, which is much more solid revolves around October the tenth, Al sort of losing his temper, and the interaction between Ed and Roy (not *that* way). So far, it's been an amusing broach into humor. I almost stunned by it's lack of serious sarcasm or angst. But I don't worry much, it'll come back pretty quickly.
As of thirty minutes ago, I finished a Mercedes Lackey book. I felt in need for hot-paced action, some interesting romance that helped the storyline, and suspense. Mostly, something that would get my blood moving and adrenaline kicking. Either I picked the wrong book for that, I have read to many Mercedes Lackey/fantasy books, or my hypothalamus (oooh, I used a new word incorrectly, YAY!)/part in my brain that starts adrenaline and energy rush was not satisfied. I mean, it was a perfectly fine book and, as typical of Lackey, I read it in about a day. But I was not captivated by very much of it. Nor could I say, in retrospect, was much of it a surprise. A problem that has been bugging me more and more. Argh.
*sigh* Now I have to decide between finishing a Brian Jacques book (and it's so sad that the name of it has slipped entirely away) or Hemingway. I'm not sure which will be more of a struggle.

11:22pm: Hah, I've got a new email account, I've got a new email account. *Does dance* Okay, yes, I am sooooooo lame, but you know what? I don't care. I finally decided to get one that does not have sex or my name in it. Hah. *happy dance thing* Come talk to me at if you give me a call I'll tell you wherein I'll eventually put up a webpage through. Maybe. ....

9:37pm: Life is depressing
And here I bet you thought I had disappeared into cyberspace. Hah, I laugh at your ignorance. I just got distracted by fan sites (not all of them Highlander, *coughGilcough*), subtracted by fancy dancy music video sites, exiled from my computer for a brief vacation, and a half-hearted attempt to find a new email address somewhere...Something I've been promising myself for, oh, two years now. *shrugs* Eventually, eventually...

Well, I caught up with all the fun modern movies. I have now seen all four Harry Potters (I feel oddly ashamed to say that), a fanatic over Full Metal Alchemist (go ED!), and watched The Corpse Bride and Spirited Away. W00T! Full Metal Alchemist is pretty fun, the whole idea of an alternative universe that relies on magic instead of technology is not exactly new, but the two bothers wandering around probably catches my attention more than anything else the show's shown me. Although I seem to have a problem in which that I'm probably going to be seeing the end episodes, as opposed to the beginning, which is really, bluntly, sucky, as the ending is bound to be depressing and sugary sweet and ugh. Ah well, Ed with his yummy braid makes me happy more than anything else. The two movies both ended sort of depressing like, which means I seriously need to find something happy, or with a well-written, painstaking clear happy ending. As I'm feeling rather inarticulate (XD) and have a sudden desire to put like through out all my sentences, I think I'll discuss my summery of the movies someother time, as I need to do a nice long one concerning the ever delicious Johnny Deep *happy sigh*.

Oh here's a little snippet of something that I've been working. *sigh* I've got sooo many damned storylines that need to be finished. This one, *shrugs* was part of a much longer story until I realized that it didn't make sense so it's going to by itself. It's not complete, but it is a start.And I really need to start doing something with my PWP.

The Restaurant at the End of the Line
Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander or any other references, whether consious or not in the story.
Note: Highlander, if did not know, is about a lot of long lived guys cutting each other's heads off. Duncan MacLeod is the overbearing protaganist with judging issues and Methos is a five thousand year old cynic. The setting is not meant to be slash, exactly. However it probably crept like dandilions. The setting is post Valkyrie (Duncan has just taken a Quickening).

The small restaurant, which looked more like a broken warehouse, they went in to was small, darkly lit, and smelled of something between marijuana and incense with a dose of mint just to make it truly unbreathable. The hostess didn't even bother looking up when they came, reading what suspiciously looked like an American bodice ripper. Duncan hoped it wasn’t one of his. The tables were arranged in a semi circular manner arranged around an empty bar and a bored looking bartender, smoking, with a few booths in the dark corners. What was left of the wallpaper, when it hadn't been ripped or beer stained, was candy cane stripped horizontally, bright red and white. The decor, paintings and an occasional thingamajig, was tacky or broken, or both. Methos led him to the back corner booth. Duncan had a hunch that it would be awhile before even a waiter saw them and a strong suspicion that Methos had never been to this place and just picked it so he could go into a screaming fit and not have to worry about the crowds. It came a surprise then, when barely five minutes passed a waiter came to their table, a drooping man with a mustache that looked even more tired, handed them menus and greeted Methos, of all people, by name. Their menus were waterlogged, the words blurry, and what could be seen looked as if was written in Belgian or Turkish. At least though, Duncan noted, the table was clean and the silver ware wasn’t plastic.
“You come here to eat?”
Methos shrugged, “The owner has some eccentricities, but the cook makes the best coffee and good chocolate pie too. None of that cream and sugar stuff. Straight American black coffee. Manages to make you sober with just one sip. Besides, Immortals avoid this place.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said partly sarcastic and part wondering.
Some Immortals were into the ritzy and overpriced restaurants, where they could strut out their wealth they had accumulated in more often than not less than honest means. Most went to ones that didn’t draw much attention, small back corner ones, or crowded and open spaced fastfood places as to avoid having to deal with Challenges. The dangerous ones haunted dank bars and taverns. Methos as far he could tell, went wherever he pleased or not at all.
“Because the security has a list of people, with photo identification that the staff has to memorize, the owner drew up, that are allowed into the restaurant. If they're not on the list, they aren't allowed in. Unless it is accurately assumed that the followers are family or lovers of such persons.”
“I take it you’re on it.”
“Of course.”
“How come I was let in?”
“They think you’re my lover.”
He spat out the water he had been sipping, coughing as it went down the wrong tube and feeling his face heat up, “Methos!”
“They’re very tolerant of that sort of thing Mac. This is Paris after all.”
“That’s not the point-nevermind. How did you get on the list?” Methos looked at him over the top of his menu innocently, “Christ, you are the owner, aren’t you?”
He shrugged, answering only with an enigmatic grin, before returning his complete attention to the entrees. Duncan almost laughed. It was just like Methos to bring him to a restaurant he owned and then not say anything about it. His mirth though was short lived. His thoughts returned to Ingrid. Ingrid was dead. He had killed her and he wished there was something else he could’ve done. Anything other than take her head.
But dammit, there hadn’t been. Not when she had an bomb in her hand, ready to kill hundreds of innocents because of one man. That didn’t make him feel any better though.
They didn’t say another word until the waiter came, coming close to yawning in their faces when he asked for their orders. Not feeling very hungry, Duncan ordered some fresh fruit and coffee. Methos thoughtfully tapped his menu on the table, “Is Renee awake? Good, then I think I’ll have the usual, but with extra whip cream if you don’t mind. My friend is paying.”
Once the waiter left, Duncan said with irony, “Don’t you mean ‘my boyfriend’?”
“I wasn’t aware that we had that sort of relationship but if you know something I don’t….”
He trailed off, cocking his eyebrow. Only Duncan couldn't see what was particularly funny.


TBC...maybe? Frank out.

10:01pm: *peers under rock*
Yes, I have just gotten a brand spankin' new computer. Okay, not really, but it has a super faster moden, a pretty big screen, and Microsoft Word. I am very happy. I'm in the seventh level of happiness here. Maybe *gasp* I might even update more. Mmmm, that would be shocking. New goal: Update, talk to people, find a new email account other than yahoo. Hell, I might even do something with this...probably not. But, hey, it's worth a try. *sigh* Anyway, long while back I promised part two of my David Eddings story. Well, here it is.

Only the World and Nothing less.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sadly. Morosely. I do however have two copies of the series *evil grin*
Notes: Sometime during the Mallorean. The crew has not yet gone to Mal Zeth. It started so innocently too. Just what would happen if Zakath and Belgarath talked. Well..Zakath said this, and Belgarath said that...and well, it's not my fault at all.

Only the harsh clicks of boot heels hitting stone were the warning for the occupant before his door was opened wide. Bright light from torches flared, near blinding the room’s inhabitant. Harsh guttural sounds of command were aimed to the sprawled body. A retort flew back, rolling on a strange accent, sharp and piercing to the ear. Stony silence commenced after a gruff sentence.
Tension boiled in the atmosphere. Finally, the occupant, whose blue eye’s still squinted in the bright light from the lamp, sighed making his shine and twinkle disappear under weathered skin. With a winkled hand against his throbbing temple, a consequence of the night before, an inner debate could be seen upon his ancient face. Emotions that played so fast that one could not quite define them all, but irritation (at the wine or the interruption of his sleep was uncertain) seemed to be the underlying mask. Only breathing (harsh, soft, and deep) interrupted the silence. Two different hands quivered on sword hilts; while another started to loosen his own before the blue eyes were visible to his company, now staring unflinching in the light. A brief nod and a hasty plea for time to be decently dressed was asked.
The soldiers closed the door. Minutes passed and the once peaceful sleeper came out, a stained white robe hastily wrapped around his lean frame. No words were exchanged; nods and stares were sufficient as the group walked down the hallway, two guards in front, one behind the robed man.
Another door opened, shut.
Now only two were in a room, one sitting, one standing. Four dimly lit lanterns sat in the corners, with the only real light coming from a single candle at the desk in front of the sitting man. Polite phrases rolled from the dark-haired man, motioning for the other to sit, relax, perhaps a drink would be in order?
The guest, though prisoner perhaps would not be far off the mark, refused just as politely in his lilting voice, rubbing his head to excuse his disinclination to have what caused it in the first place. A flash of emotion, anger, annoyance and humor, before fading to deadness passed the sitting man’s eyes. The blue eye’s narrowed at the quick flashes, silver eyebrows twitching ever so slightly before his face smoothed out to placid blandness. The game had begun.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”
“Your guards made it rather difficult to refuse to.”
“Some how I find it doubtful that no matter how determined my guards could have gotten, they would not have made up your mind on to seeing me.”
“True.”

Silence. The players had drawn their positions.

“I suppose you have a reason for wanting to talk to me in the middle of the night.”
“Many reasons, not the least of which because I do my best work at midnight, though, to be honest I did not think you’d be asleep at this hour.” Flash of white, a smile, possible point.
“How unsurprising,” A brief murmur though what he was unsurprised at was unclear.
Dark eyebrows still clear of silver furrowed, eyes tightened, and winkles grew deeper but his voice remained calm. Lost point.

“I have been told you are seven thousand years old.” Smoothly he went into his second strategy.
“Thereabouts, a couple of hundred either way. I was born a very long time ago and the calender was a little vague back then.” A touch of humor.

No return joke. Interrogation continued.

“You are a sorcerer.” A statement, not a question at the moment.
“It is what I’ve been called, yes in any case.”
“Your family has, what is considered, sorcery?” question underlying fact.
“Most have what I would call a gift that might be consider sorcery. My daughter most definitely,” under the breath, “unfortunately for me,” louder, “and my grandson.”
“Belgarion you mean.”
“Yes, my grandson with a indefinite amount of greats.”

A nod of interest, a quick gleam in the dark eyes before continuing, candle light swaying to light up most of his face. Point kept.

“Can you kill a man just by looking at him?” humorous subject change.
“Probably not, though I could make him wish he was.” Unusual seriousness.
“Have you ever….?”
“Ever what?” feigned ignorance, blue eyes laughing merrily.
“Tortured a man by thought.” Slight impatience, annoyance.

A speculative glance, mental windows shutting behind his eyes.

“Pol tends to do it better than I.”
“You evaded the question.”
“I did.” Bald, flat, uncaring of consequences.
“Are you going to answer if I asked you again?” flatness.
“No, you really don’t need to know,” he added as an after thought.
“Many would be headless from such impudence.”
“I am not most people.”

Searching glance, interest and caution mixing with something close to uncertainty in the dark eyes before an almost reluctant reply.

“No, you are not most people.”

A half-bow, lips tugged in a faintly self-mocking smile at the surveying dark eyes that almost matched the dark niches of the room.

“You are not what I had in mind.” Sudden change in conversation.

Half-shrug, indifference or uninterest.

“I expected someone taller, bigger, muscular, liked the exaggerated tales of savage Alorn giants.”

Their eyes met; blue meeting dark brown and black evenly. Something seemed to pass that he liked as the dark haired man leaned back.

“But, on the other hand, you are much more, I suppose, intelligent I would say, than I expected as well.”

Mocking full bow, impish grin.
He grinned back but without any impishness or warmth.

“Yes, quite different than what I imagined.” This time the smile lasted longer. “But then you must have had a different image of me.”
“Not really.” Unexcited.

Surprise from the desk, easily shown when he moved forward, his plain linen clothing rustling together, elbows on table.

“Should I be hurt?” Dry.
“I find people who wish to take over the world very much the same.”
“You mean, all of them are very much like Kal Torak.” Half-amused glitter in his eyes and tone.

Shrug.

“And his disciples, but mostly yes, Torak.”

A twitch at the pronounced disappearance of the courteous title but no other reaction.
Shadows played across their faces from the flickering golden candlelight. Age seemed undetermined, for it was not clear who was older of the two by sight alone. Even their eyes did not betray their beings, only that one seemed merrier and sadder at the same time, while the other was cold, like cloudy pond water in winter time and just as opaque.

“I have never wished to be Kal Torak.”

An undecipherable grunt. Blue eyes unfathomable yet still clear like clear blue saphires.

“I do not know what to make of you.” Frustration with slight anger glimmer sullenly in the eyes of coal.
“As you pointed out, I am a sorcerer and seven thousand years old, it would take a very observant man, indeed, to know everything about me.”

Bitter laughter that ends just as quickly as it began.

“I don’t believe it, you do know that.”
“That’s not my concern.” Evenness.
“And what is your concern?” He pounced on the last word, eyes glittering with a stranger ferocity.

No reply.

For once the blue eyes do not meet the condemning dark ones. They are frowning at something in the distance that only he can see.
Point won in the obscure game of his that only he knew how to play, that dark haired man leaned back.

“As I figured.”

Dismissal was in his tone and body. The second man did not move, ignoring or not noticing the signs for him to leave. Scratching his scruffy beard thoughtfully, the sorcerer pulled his eyes to easily meet the emperor’s.

“My only concern, Zakath, is the world, only the world.”

His robe rustling against his body was the only sound of him leaving the room, the closing silently behind him. Upon leaving the candle on the desk grew suddenly in luminescence, almost ethereal blue before abruptly blowing out leaving the room and it’s ruler alone in the darkness.

10:20pm: Cleaned my entire house today. Took most of the day actually.
....Hey, it's a big house.
Anyway, I think I'm getting hooked into South Park. Of course this is the first one I've actually sat all the way through for. (Yeah, I know, how the hell can not have seen at least one episode of South Park? I just have deep suspicion of anything that's popular by American audiences. Sue me.) So anyway, this one was an utter slam against Mel Gibson's (ironically Braveheart is also on tonight *mmmm*) Passion of the Christ...something like that and Mel Gibson himself. I don't like Passion. Never seen, do NOT want to see it and from what I know of it, am not impressed. The overall plot is Jesus' crucifixion, with the twenty lashes and assorted brutality and violence from the Roman soldiers of course, and his horrifyingly painful death. Crucifixion is, by the by, one of the most absolutely painful ways to die because you basically asphyxiate to death. And, in most cases, it happens after three or four days. Romans used it as the most common death penalty. Gives you sort of a different view on them doesn't it? (Maybe I'm just prejudiced though, maybe it was extremely humane...I just have a strong dislike against people who try to kill Celts. Call it a emotional lapse.) Also, twenty lashes, and I should mention this varies depending on the strength of the wielder and what type of whip it is, would usually kill an ordinary man. Another oh so pleasant (and humane, most remember that one) death. So, oh goddie, two hours of watching blood and violence that horror movies strive for. There's a bunch of peculiar "subplots" and some really funky stuff including the devil (?!) in blue....yeah, lovely, I'll look for a reference of a blue devil in the Bible sometime. I don't want to even think about why the devil decided to show up. Personally people create enough of their own demons that they don't need some to magically, mystically, mysteriously (oh, three 'm's, I think I'll quit while I'm ahead) appear for no good reason other to say 'you're going to die very painfully because you didn't follow me.' Does wonders to your faith. Truly it does. But what really pisses me off about this whole movie, skipping over the fact that this whole movie is centered on the most inconsequential part of Jesus' life (He died, wonderful. Lot's of people died, lot's of people died on the cross, lot's and lot's of people stayed dead. But, whoah, Jesus didn't and that's somewhat different) and that there's a faint anti-Semitism to all of it (Let's be rather clear here. Jesus was sentenced to death by a squabbling, angry crowd that wanted to see blood. What their religious affiliation probably doesn't matter so much as the fact that Jesus was betrayed by people that he knew, whether they were Jewish, believed in Jupiter, or went around talking to trees, they describe everyone who has ever been in a crowd. On that same note, Jesus was a Jew. Thus why he's given the mocking title "King of the Jews." Go figure.) was that people feel their change in religion should be credited to Mel Gibson and their belief that he is a very spiritual man because he decided to make a gory movie about Jesus. South Park did a wonderful job and played on every fault I pointed out, especially the Mel Gibson. Including adding the oh so delicious touch of having the fat kid (lost name *grimace*) try to recruit Passion lovers into a Hitler gang.
Mel Gibson going around nuttier than a fruit bar was rather nice too. ^^

I don't think this show will turn into an obsession. As amusing as Kenny is, I find myself getting easily distracted when watching comedies. The vocabulary, yes, is fairly vulgar and the sexual content is, how might we put it, liberal and proud of it. On the other hand, if I manage to get the parodies (satirical commentary) on either favorites or ones I despise it might become a channel stayer (one that I could change for but might stay to watch).

9:48pm: Conversation Part I
Okay, so I've just finished David/Leigh Eddings' newest book, number three of the Dreamers Series. It's okay. Language is pretty easy and the storyline is sort of a spiral type where you see events from different perspectives. Usually fun, the more you read, the more layers you see of the overall picture. This time it's a little bit too repetitive, not to mention even I had a hard time keeping track of the characters. >< Bad sign. Still it's far better than the Sparhawk series they wrote a while back, the less said about it, the better (though certain people whose names are MUD have said it's a good series if you wait awhile after reading the Belgariad/Mallorean. Be aware of these infidels and watch them burn in their ignorance when they try to point out Brevier is much better than Errand. They do not understand the powers of witty, sarcastic Drasnians and foul-mouthed sorcerers with ethereal bodies). Maybe I'm just prejudiced since I'm writing, in the broadest of terms, two snippets, sort of character interludes, from the Belgariad/Mallorean. Finished one. Yay! ^^ But it's sort of done in two tries. I'll give you the first one.

Disclaimer: Do not own these wonderful characters. Much to my dismay. Some couple out there in Southwest claim they created them. *snort* As if anyone could claim to create Silk. All typos and grammar mistakes, alas, are mine.
Notes (very important): For those who are slightly lost, bewildered, or just plain confused, David Eddings is a fantasy writer who wrote this wonderful twelve to thirteen (I say twelve but the Mrin Codex is technically in that universe) of whom I can not say nearly enough about. It's your average sword and sorcery series: commoner who was descendant from a lost line becoming king, battlefields, duel between "magicians", a prophecy, a couple of wise ancients and some love interests, with a couple of peculiar quirks that make it slightly different: An "ancient" man, roughly seven thousand years old disciple of a seclusive god, who lies, cheats, and whores and is generally bad-tempered. His name is Belgarath. And we like Belgarath. Yes, we do. *grin* Then we've got a whole cast of characters ranging from a blacksmith, who becomes a fairly dominant character to a certain female person, to acrobatic, dagger-flying, thief that is only slightly less immoral than Belgarath (something you can assume only because he's not old enough), and a hero who we happily don't spend whole chapters reading about who he agonizes over killing his first thing, (deer, roach, man, etc). My interlude is after all the original ruckus has calmed down, the original enemy is dead, and the first series characters have grown up to semi-adulthood (they're a little more cynical and bad-tempered than at the beginning). Specifically, it's during Demon Lord of Karanda (third book of the Mallorean) where the gang (hero and sidekicks with love interests) have just been bought to Zakath. Zakath's king of Mallorea (yeah there is sort of a connection to the title "Mallorean") and he's not a very nice man. Not exactly evil, but he doesn't have any moral dilemmas over killing a whole race of people in horrific ways. He also doesn't sleep at night, which could be either be read that he has too much to do or because his dreams are haunted by his dead lover, murdered by his own hands (in a very complicated plot that involves too much explaining, just trust me on saying it wasn't entirely his fault and those that were got punished in a rather imaginative fashion).
Final commentary: This ficlet started with me wondering what *would* Belgarath and Zakath say to each other at night. Think of it as a pencil drawing. The oil is a couple of days from now.

There was the slightest tap on the door, the only warning for the person within. The soldier entered, his chainmail clinking. His face was emotionaless as he looked down at the prostrate figure just woken up, “His illustrious majesty, Kal Zakath would like to enjoy Ancient Belgarath’s presence.”
Bright blue eyes that seemed out of place for such an elderly face looked under a tangle of blankets and pillows, “Does his royal majesty realize it's midnight?”
There was waspish note to his voice that the guard ignored, “I'm sure he does, Ancient One, but Kal Zakath would still like to see you.”
After some faint mumblings and cursing that would have at least caused a flogging for such language against the emperor, the socerer grudgingly spoke, “I'll come see him. Let me get decent first.”
“Of course,” the guard bowed before leaving the room. Closing the door, the Mallorean inwardly sighed. He did not understand why his majesty wanted to see such a dingy old man, especially at an hour when everyone was asleep, but he was not to disobey or even question such orders. After a few minutes, in which the soldier kept a rigid guard, the ancient man appeared outside the door wearing a rumpled white robe. His white hair was tangled as was his beard, but they were the only signs that he had woken up at an ungodly hour, except for scowl of irritabitly he wore as he followed the guard. Once inside the small study, the Mallorean bowed to the socerer and left him, waiting outside until the emperor called on him for another task. Curious, Belgarath roved his eyes over the richly furbished room, very little escaping his shart notice. There were a few cushy chairs draped in velvet, a book shelf full of books and expensive nick-nacks, mainly out of gold and silver. Only two skinny windows allowed moonlight to drapple through, making a strange dance with the light with the single candle. There was only one other man in the room, his body hunched over the desk scribbling quickly. Only the sound of his writing interrupted the silence. He finished and put his pen down. Moving his hand to show the sorcerer he could sit, Zakath watched with incurious eyes as Belgarath moved into one of the chairs half-circling the desk.
“I see you decided to come. I wasn't sure you would.”
Belgarath grunted and looked around, “Do you have any ale somewhere? Getting up in the middle of the night makes me rather thirsty.”
“I can order some if you wish, though I can not guarantee it's ripeness,” the emperor started to ring a bell and Belgarath shook his head.
“Never mind. Do you have anything to drink in this room?”
“I have a bottle of wine,” he pointed out the cabinet.
Once again silence reigned as Belgarath fumbled with the wine and glasses. Finally filling a crystal goublet with ruby wine, he relaxed on his chair, “So what was so urgent, Zakath, that you needed me to get out of bed before the midnight hour?”
“I wished to speak to you.”
“And this couldn't wait until morning?” Belgarath raised his bushy eyebrows while sipping his wine.
Smiling slightly, Zakath leaned away from his desk, “I find I do my best work at night. The night often uncovers what the sun hides.” The sorcerer made no comment. “Mainly I came to ask you about your reputation.”
“My reputation?” his eyebrows rose even higher.
“Your esteemed reputation that Grolims have exaggerated to the point of it being a fairy tale for children, or,” his lips quirked, “when royalty are not firmly under their thumbs.”
“One does one best,” was the sorcerer’s flippant reply.
Abrubtly, Zakath's expression changed to one to being faintly sardonic to that of focused intensity, “Is true that you are really seven thousand years old?”
Sipping his wine, Belgarath replied off-hand, “Give or take a few years, yes.”
“Then you have seen Torak’s original face?” Before waiting for an answer, Zakath asked intently. “Was it really handsome or was that another myth from a Grolim’s overative imagination?”
“Stop dancing around the subject Zakath, if you want to ask me question tell me without all this ambiguousness. I’m not one of your fluffy lords whose intelligence isn’t higher than a gnat,” the blue-eyed man said bluntly, “but if you really want to know, Torak was very handsome, almost inhumanly so.”
“No, you are most not one of my fluffy lords,” a flicker of amusement passed in the Mallorean’s dead eyes before they went still, “how many men have you killed?”
Belgarath looked thoughtfully at the emperor, “I really couldn’t say, in cold blood I’d say about a dozen at most. Indirectly, probably more.”
“Indirectly?” there was a flicker of something between scorn and a smile in Zakath’s tone.
“Just because I wasn’t holding the blade, doesn’t I mean I didn’t kill them.”
“Does that particularly bother you?” he leaned on his elbows, “I mean, do you ever have dreams of guilt about it?”
“Not often, but I don’t dwell on the past very much,” Belgarath sipped his wine, “this is a very good bottle.”
Zakath nodded absently, rubbing his knuckles broodingly. After a moment of reflection, he asked suddenly, “Were you ever happy?”
The socerer went very still, the humor in his eyes suddenly gone replaced with an unfathomable emotion, “I was, for two thousand years.”
“Do you think anyone can be happy despite the pain they’ve inflicted?” his voice was barely above a whisper as the Mallorean looked in the distance.
Belgarath answered openly, “Perhaps, depends on whether he realizes he has done terrible things and wishes to repent.”
Zakath’s eyes focused on his, “Do you believe that?”
“I find that’s generally true,” swallowing the last of his wine, Belgarath got up, “if that is all, your majesty, I’m going back to bed.”
He started to the door without any interference from the man behind the desk. As he opened it, the emperor spoke up in a more relaxed tone, “What caused you to be so happy?”
For a moment it looked like Belgarath hadn’t heard and would leave. Zakath’s eyes narrowed, widening when the ancient man turned around. His face was so full of sorrow, his blue eyes filled with an unbearable loss that the emperor found himself for the first time, feeling a bang of regret.
“I was married,” the seven thousand year’s old man voice was choked with emotions, “I was married and she died.”
He left the room leaving the Emperor of Mallorea in the darkness.