| View: | Fade To Black |
| View: | Disposable Heroes |
| View: | Hit The Lights |
| View: | Trapped Under Ice |
| Hold your breath for the latest 30 casualties of war. Cut this life off from me as I go back 30 cases to my grave. | |
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| Thursday, February 19th, 2004 |
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Been a while since I posted in here, eh? I should've done this a long time ago, but I put it off because I wanted to live in denial for a few months more. Anyway, I'm done, finito, kaput. I'm closing out this journal, taking everyone off my friends list, and heading off to parts unknown. I simply have nothing more to say in here. Besides, I'm not who I used to be and you'd be bored by who I am now. Don't try to deny it because I know better. And I'm okay with that. To everyone who made this journalling experience memorable; to the haters, the players, the friends, the loonies, the random commenters, and the lovelies: thank you. My life would've been so much more boring and empty without you, and I honestly believe that I would not have grown as a person if I hadn't had a chance to meet you and learn from you. Take care of yourself and take care of each other. Catch you on the flip side. P.S. -- I can't help but hope that someday, one of my enemies will accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) find this journal and gloat incessantly over my graceless exit from LiveJournal. If anyone sees such a thing occur, please point it out to me. I know I'd get a real kick out of that. |
| Friday, August 29th, 2003 |
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I should know better than to post when I'm PMSy. Now that I think about it, I should know better than to post at all. Insert self-righteous self-pity here. But I have to post this because Ryan has the most gorgeous eyes ever. ( I'm a sucker for brown eyes. ) I think I'm done. |
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I was going to comment on the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards, but I figure if I've got nothing nice to say, better not to say anything at all. Besides, I'm really not in the mood to spew bile at the lame presenters and sexploitation that went on during the show. I will say that Chris Rock deserves a medal for hosting this show so well, seeing OutKast, Iggy Pop, and Metallica onstage made it somewhat worthwhile to watch it, Jack Black is my fricking hero, and the Madonna/Britney/Xtina thing was *highly* overrated, in my ever so unneeded opinion. Mea culpa to anyone who disagrees with what I say, but these are just my truncated thoughts on the whole show. I could go into detail, but I can only abuse the word "motherfucker" so many times before it loses its edge. This is one of the pictures that ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} schmi sent me. I've turned it into my default because I love it so much while the other one is my new 'Call Of Ktulu' icon since the picture fit the keywords so well.( Beautiful man, beautiful soul. ) I'm off to do laundry and watch From Hell. Ever since I saw Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl and discovered that Johnny Depp in eyeliner is really hot, I've been on a quest to watch the few movies of his I haven't seen yet. As well, if someone could point me toward good Jack Sparrow/Norrington slash, I'd really appreciate it since a) I really don't give a toss about Will Turner, who really *does* belong with Elizabeth and should stay with her so they can make beautiful, brown-eyed, pouty-lipped babies together, and b) flaming pirate + repressed British naval officer = gobs of fun. I'd also like to declare my adoration for Keira Knightley, she of the wonderfully heaving bosoms, but I think I'm probably the millionth person in line to do so. Bad timing, eh wot? |
| Tuesday, August 26th, 2003 |
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Being told I look like a Precious Moment is probably one of the more creative compliments I've ever received, although I don't really see it as I'm lacking the freakishly large eyes, chubby cheeks and overly adorable pout. Wait, maybe I have the chubby cheeks. Anyway, this kind of compliment is like being told you're disgustingly normal or annoyingly sweet; it's a reluctant compliment, courtesy of someone who didn't want to find something good about you, but did, much to their chagrin. Personally, I'll take what I can get. After months of non-usage, I finally started wearing my contacts again. I hadn't used those suckers in so long that one of them had actually dried out into a little, shrivled-up bit of crust. I had to soak it in fluid and then *coax* the fucker for a good half-hour into retaining its original curve before I could wear it. Of course, this had to happen before I had to go to work, but this sort of thing happens a lot to me, as you should know by now. As well, it's really amazing how unremarkable I am to some of the people around me. I made a fairly dramatic change, but not very many people noticed; one agent even asked me if I'd gotten a haircut. Oh, well. EREAL, who is no longer quite so evil, is having a major personal crisis involving her brother right now. My heart just breaks for her. We've had our horrendous times, true, but underneath it all, she really is a good-hearted person; she's just a disorganized ditz most of the time. She was near tears today when we were discussing her brother and I never want to see that again. It just hurts too much to see her hurting like that; I'm being forced to see another side to her, a more human side, and it makes me uncomfortable to bear witness to that. I went shopping yesterday and bought the cutest pairs of sandals I've ever seen. I always thought the shopping therapy theory was crap, but yesterday proved me wrong, at least when it comes to clothes. Buying CDs, DVDs and books make me feel happy, but there is guilt when I try to stuff yet another CD or DVD or book into my already-full shelves. I feel no such guilt when I buy clothes or shoes, mainly because I have lots of room for them. If I thought hard enough, I could probably come up with a decent country music title for this situation. I'm rarely online anymore. Now that I think about it, I barely write in this journal as well. I just don't have much to say. My life is steady, but hardly exciting. I'm not splitting the fucking atom with this job, I don't have time to party anymore, and I don't go to many live music shows, so I just stay quiet until I have something to say. Which isn't much. I am quite excited about Edgefest on September 6 and Nickelback releasing their new album on September 23, but really, who cares about that? That kind of news puts people in a coma. I have to go back to work now. |
| Monday, August 18th, 2003 |
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The news today said that technically, no one should be working because it might overwork the servers and cause yet another blackout, but somehow, I can't see this tidbit of information going over well with my bosses. "Yeah, sorry I couldn't make it into work today, but I was doing my part to be a good little conservationist and prevent more blackouts. It was on the news. It had nothing to do with just not wanting to work. Really!" If the power went out again, I could survive just fine. With the exception of not having enough light to read my books and not having hot water to shower with, I made it through 24 hours of no electricity with nary a complaint in hearing distance. Strange considering I'm the one who refuses to go camping because it means living in a bug free-for-all zone with no running water, but everyone needs a few quirks to make them interesting. As long as I have homemade tea and marshmallows onna stick, I can survive the Second Coming of Christ, Armageddon, and Arnold Schwarzenegger being elected as President of the United States. Dilbert is entirely too accurate in capturing the goings-on in my office. This scares me. For some reason, the urge to post scads of Metallica pictures is upon me, but I've managed to control myself by only posting one. Naturally, it's James Hetfield. I know this is just me, but it really does look like he's smoking a hookah pipe. Now I'm going to be stuck all day with the image of James as the Catepillar from Alice In Wonderland. Great.  I'm working till nine p.m. today. Boo. Addendum: Scott Ian fucking rules. ANTHRAX TOUR DIARY By Scott Ian I know I shouldn't care but I'm glad "Gigli" bombed. It's too bad the movie business wasn't more like the record business where if you bomb you're done. No more movies Ben and J Blo. I bet you can't wait for their next romp in Kevin Smith's "Jersey Girl." No, I didn't see "Freddy Vs. Jason." The last Freddy movie I saw was Part 3 and the last Jason was Part 2. I'd go see it if it was just 90 minutes of murder and mayhem. Just come up with 30 or 40 new ways to kill people on screen and you've got my 10 bucks. I don't need the "witty" one-liners. Michael Myers should show up and kill both of them. Or the old Werewolf. Later, Lon Chaney rules. Scott |
| Saturday, August 16th, 2003 |
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Doesn't it just figure that the one time I actually have a day off to go to the movies, the biggest blackout in North American history has to take place? If I sound whiny, please forgive me. I'm sure I'll be better once work is done today. On the plus side, at least I got to watch the majority of S.W.A.T. before the movie shut off on me. I stayed away from the "We ♥ Colin Farrell" bandwagon for the longest time because enough people were squealing about him, but I have to say, baby, he is *fine*. But I really went to see Samuel Jackson, Mr. Samuel L. Jackson who is in the Top 10 Hot Older Men I'd Do list. As well, if I were straight again, I'd give up my heterosexuality for Michelle Rodriguez. She makes my brain melt. And the movie was fantastic: full of action, tension, snappy dialogue, cool slow-mo shots, great characters, plot twists, amazing music, and enough homoerotic moments to keep slashers happy. I'll be surprised if this doesn't spawn a great big bloody S.W.A.T. fandom, if only because Street and Gamble had so much *potential* together. We got power back yesterday, but my Internet was still out. So I watched Die Another Day just to see what all the fuss was about. I haven't really been into the Bond movies since Roger Moore took over, but I've enjoyed Pierce Brosnan's James Bond and was expecting to be pleasantly diverted by this installment. Ha! Instead, I was blown away, mostly by those cool little nods to the old-school James Bond flicks: Halle Berry's rising out of the water like Ursula Andress' Honey in Dr. No, the boot spring knife with its poison tip that was once used on Sean Connery's James Bond in that movie with Oddjob in it, and so much more. It was full of cool effects (although I'm lost on why car chases and explosions have to be so goddamn *long*), cooler dialogue, and hot babes. Perfect for me. Unlike Famke Janssen's Xenia Onatopp, this movie's villainess so did not do a thing for me. She was a total milksop whereas Xenia was a dark, dangerous widow spider with a wicked wit. But Halle Berry just did it for me in this movie. I thought she was going to suck, but her Jinx was just smart, funny, and resourceful. She really was James' equal in every way, something I just adored seeing onscreen. Also, James and M were fucking. Sorry to break it to you, but that scene where she tells him he's stripped of his 00 status? Yeah, they were doing it. As well, would Moneypenny please get the fuck over James and find herself some sweet, sexy, young thing who'll fulfill her every need? Male or female, it doesn't really matter. Finally, I want Q to be my father. He can give me neat toys, admonish me if I misused them, and speak in a neat British accent while he's doing all of this. John Cleese is near and dear to my heart. I adore him. Okay, I'm off to work. And of course, it's raining like the Second Coming of Christ over here. Yay. Just what I need to make my Saturday all better. No, wait, that would be finding out that the TTC doesn't run until Monday while I'm working today and tomorrow. Sigh. Can we go back to the blackout again? |
| Wednesday, August 13th, 2003 |
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Insert standard whiny/depressed/angry/amusing rant/observation/anecdote about work/home/life. Generalized anxiety clause not included. I don't know what it is about unstable weather that causes people to act like cave-dwelling, glandularly-damaged freaks, but I'd really like the scientific community to do a study. Between the one agent who felt it necessary to scream so loud at one of the receptionists that even *I* could hear him over the phone and the racist motherfucker who sideswiped someone's car, almost killing him, and then called him "a fucking immigrant", I am surrounded by social rejects, malcontents, and misfits who do not possess the skills necessary to even wipe their own asses let alone treat someone with dignity and respect. If there is a God, lightning will strike these people right where they stand; if not, I can always laugh while my colleagues fuck with their appointments. I was having an early mid-life crisis, but I think it's passed. Or at least, I've repressed it enough to move on with my life. I'm operating on a strict 'don't ask, don't tell' policy with this one, so don't bother worrying about it. I wish my sister were back here. She'd get me laughing again. I haven't done it since the weekend she left. |
| Sunday, August 10th, 2003 |
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First of all, a happy birthday to all the people I have not wished. I truly do hope you have a wonderful day and I'm sorry I wasn't able to wish you on the actual day itself. I suck. Second of all, insert furious swearing at LiveJournal here for vanishing my first attempt at this post. Bradley, go fuck yourself. Hard. And make it hurt. An open letter to the people who call in on the switchboard and do the following things to piss me off: a) ramble on about various things that don't enable me to help you as quickly and efficiently as possible; b) call in every five minutes to find out if your appointment has been confirmed yet, despite the fact that you just booked it half an hour ago; c) speak too fast or too softly for me to be able to hear you and then get all pissy with me when I ask you to repeat yourself; d) start giving me attitude because so-and-so agent didn't return your calls, despite your multiple messages to them; e) call in without knowing the property or agent you want to deal with and then expect me to be able to magically pull the information out of my ass; f) keep on asking for information that I just told you I either don't have or can't give you and then angrily hang up without so much as a by-your-leave; g) concerning the agents who work out of our office and freak out over the smallest details (like, oh, I don't know, when some other agent booked a showing from 11 a.m. to 12 p.m. at 11:38 a.m., which is what he asked us to do, and just why are you yelling at us when our job is to just book the appointment, not counsel the fucking agent into booking at a more convenient time, you dickless wonder?) and then actually complain to the sales manager that those mean, incompetent receptionists aren't doing their job the way you want them to, wah, wah, fucking *wah*. You are all, and I say this with all the dignity I can muster, stupid, stupid, *fucking* stupid people and if I never have to deal with you again, it'll be too goddamn soon. It's been a rough week, it's been a hellacious week, and this is exactly why I fucking hate civic holidays and shortened weeks because it seems to signal to all and sundry that it's perfectly *fine* and *acceptable* to act like rude, inconsiderate shit-weasels when dealing with us receptionists because we obviously are there just to take the abuse. Whatever. Saturday was the day from hell. I'm so glad I had today off because I was really ready to kill everyone who even looked at me wrong after work yesterday. This is partly why I'm so incommunicado these days. I just don't want to end up snapping at someone who didn't do anything wrong, just because I'm frustrated and cranky. By that same token, I'm officially ignoring the news. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and hearing about people robbing, raping, killing, hurting and bombing the shit out of each other is more than I can handle right now. I'm sick of being sick of humanity and I don't care if this makes me apathetic, pathetic, or just plain ignorant, I can't take any more anymore. Call me when something actually goes right for a change. I'm going on a trip until then. But I would like to thank schmi for salvaging my Friday with her lovely package. I opened it up to find two beautiful pictures of Cliff Burton that I'm going to turn into icons the minute I scan them in because I'm just that lame, but mostly, I read over her note, looked at the pictures, and tried not to cry. Some people are just so fucking nice and they don't have to be, but they are and the world makes just a little more sense when you have those random acts of kindness that you weren't expecting happen to you. Rashmi, I really don't think I can thank you enough. It's more than just the pictures, that's really all I know how to say.I wanted to get a manicure done today, but it's not in the cards. Every place I went to either didn't do manicures or had no manicurist in today, so I just went and bought myself jeans. Ever since I decided that diets were just not for me, I haven't been able to fit into my old pairs and I really can't be arsed to angst over that either. I have tits, I have hips, I have thighs, I have an ass, and I can make them look good so I'm just fine with that. Cosmopolitan (which I read on occasion just to fucking torture myself) and those of their 'if you're fat, just kill yourself right now' ilk can just fucking eat me since I'm high in protein and nutrition. But O can stay because I actually like that magazine a lot. I'm not sleeping well these days. I think that's really why I've gotten sucked back into The Sentinel fandom. Sleep-deprivation, it's as good an excuse as any. I'm only reading Francesca's and Mallory Klohn's stuff so far because I'm really in it for the snappy dialogue, but I'm sure I'll seek out other stuff later on if I'm really desperate. I'll be honest, it was a bad show with just about everything going against it, including the fact that it was on UPN (the network where shows went to die a slow, lingering death) but I did love it to bits. I will always love it. I think that says a lot about my aesthetic tastes, too much, actually. ( Notice my clever segue into a gratuitous picture post. ) I've been listening to Rammstein's "Mutter" for the last couple of days. I've had to look up translations of the lyrics since I don't speak German, but the music alone is enough to make me fall. They use a lot of violins and sweet, angelic vocals mixed with aggressive hard rock, and I'm a whore for that. Plus, the whole album is like some sort of fucked-up fairytale for adults and how can I say no to that? I have Hot Tamales in my mouth and Hawksley Workman on the speakers. I don't think it can get any better than today, babies, I really don't. Addendum: If you really want to know why I got back into The Sentinel, blame sister_wolf. Look what she had to have as an icon: I'm still trying to find the original of this because awww, it's Jim sleeping! Oh, hush. |
| Tuesday, August 5th, 2003 |
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Brie did it, not me. Blame her. And Canada. And Canadians, those rat bastards. The Matt Good icon that made me briefly want to go straight. Don't ask me why because I really don't know. I think it's the mouth. I have a fetish for that. This one comes in a close second. It's the glasses. And the sturdy line of his jaw. And the disgruntled look. No one makes disgruntled look as sexy as Matt goes. I'm going to Hell and you're all coming with me. Just thought I'd let you know that. |
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First of all, libertyginger, come back! You can't delete when I'm away from LiveJournal and unable to talk you out of it. Sob! I keep wanting to update about Shannon's kickass party, but I'm still recovering from it. Really. Not the drinking part because I only had a six-pack of Rickerd's Red, but it was the staying-up-till-six-thirty-a.m. part that really dicked me over. It was great fun, though, and I met a lot of really interesting people. I will say that one of my favorite moments was talking movies and books out on the patio with Kirk, Jon and Rory wherein I revealed my craptastic taste in both and found out that they *shared* it with me. Let the language of my people live on! And really, how can you dislike a party where you get to be utterly geeky, hug a lot of people, see double-fisting on a telephone screen, and then get offered a trip to a sex shop? Didn't House Party have this kind of plot? I was going to be utterly unoriginal and post about my dreams in here, but I'm vaguely traumatized by them. Why the hell do people keep trying to fuck me in my dreams? And why does it always end in tears, recriminations and my mouth being all torn up? A girl could end up with a complex. Yesterday was spent veering between anger, tears, and laughter. Fucking menstrual cycle. To combat the utter shittiness of my first day, I watched a whole bunch of horror movies (why Christopher Walken in The Dead Zone reminds me so much of Johnny Depp is going to remain one of life's greatest mysteries) and then all the Mystery Science Theater 3000 I could handle. Joel and the Bots can make you forget anything. Bleeding leg? Head injury? Carrot Top on TV? Joel and the Bots can make you laugh so hard, you forget you're hemorrhaging to death! And no one can deny the powerful, twisted, tender love between Dr. Forrester and TV's Frank. Sure, one is an evil genius bent on ruling the world and the other is his sweet, sorta dim-witted helper (like Igor, but with better hair), but in the end, isn't the show really about how their love bridges all gaps? So in conclusion, MST3K: Better than Midol! I suppose this update means that my break is over, but I'm not entirely sure yet. I think I'm going to play it by ear since I still feel vaguely eh when it comes to saying anything in this enclosed space. Oh, except that Bionic makes the most fucking fantastic music I've been hearing lately. Their CD is on repeat in my Discman and let me tell you, it makes that boring bus ride home just fly by. Why can't today be over already? |
| Saturday, August 2nd, 2003 |
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Every time I want to update this journal, my life gets in the way and I just let it go. I figure what I have to say isn't that important anyway. The truth is, my life is crazy right now because work is crazy right now. A lot of people are on vacation right now (lucky fuckers) and I have to work longer shifts than normal so that they're not short of people. Sucks, but I get paid really well so why complain? Since I probably won't get to update again for a while, I'll give everyone a rundown of what's gone on so far:
And before I forget, I'll be going to Edgefest this September. Sloan! The Tragically Hip! Our Lady Peace! You know you all wish you were me right now. Well, Marissa's here so I'm off to party. Le Festival de Shmanny is about to kick off and I don't want to miss a minute of it. Ta, darlings. Addendum: Oh, yeah, did I mention that Shannon got to talk to Blurton for about ten minutes? It turns out he's a really down-to-earth kind of guy. Who knew? |
| Sunday, July 20th, 2003 |
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To anyone who thinks that Christina Aguilera's new look means she's fat: a sincere fuck-you to you and yours. I'd be happy to have a figure like that instead of being 30 pounds heavier than her and showing it. And she looks a lot better now that she isn't so skinny, I could count her ribs. P.S. - I'd lick her cute little belly until she squirmed and giggled. So there. |
| Saturday, July 19th, 2003 |
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My life has been beyond busy and crazy for the past month or so. I've been taken off of agent work and sent to work Reception. Surprisingly, it's not a demotion, like I thought it was, and it turns out that I'm really good at it. Go figure. I'm really enjoying myself, even though I hate dealing with that special breed of idiot that always calls in and hassles me, but overall, I'm quite happy with how this has turned out. I no longer dread work, which is really all I wanted. And we get to gossip about who fucks up often (not me, for once) and who's the boss' favorite (again, not me). My schedule for work varies every week. Some days, I work nine to five, some days, I work five to nine, and I usually work weekends. It keeps my life interesting, but it's playing havoc with my social life. I had to book a weekend off in advance so I could go to shmanny's birthday party on August 2. Craziness. But I'm happy, I really, really am, so I have nothing to complain about.My sister's staying with us for a few weeks and I've already bought $300 worth of clothes and make-up. She's making me girly without my consent. Well, some consent since I paid for the damn stuff. As well, I now have a DVD player of my very own. Wal-Mart is evil, but I love them for selling DVD players for $80. Now no one can complain about having to watch my crap movies. Haha! I'm still stuck on listening to Metallica's St. Anger. I don't know why and it's vaguely irritating. By all reasons, I should hate it, but it's grown on me and I just can't. Some Kind Of Monster gets more and more haunting every time I listen to it. I had a neat idea of creating a tattoo with James' face frozen in a snarl and the words over it would be 'Some Kind of Monster' in a Frankenstein font. But I'll never be getting that tattoo. Must go work. Hope everyone's doing well. I'm still technically on my LiveJournal break, but I'll be keeping up with your lives. Take care. |
| Saturday, July 12th, 2003 |
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I want to update about last night, but I find that I need a break from being myself. Life is actually going well for me, but I haven't got much to say anymore. Maybe once my life calms down, I'll be back, but for now, I'm pretty much offline. Hey, it's either taking a break or deleting myself. I prefer the break idea, personally. Take care. |
| Sunday, July 6th, 2003 |
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Highlights of the Summer Sanitarium tour:
This took way too long to type, but it was worth it. Metallica has set the standard for live performances and it's going to take a hell of a band to beat them. Love, love, love this band so much. I will be seeing them as often as I can for as long as they tour, no matter what the cost. Also, watched the MTV Icon: Metallica special and: a) Avril wasn't as heinous as I've been led to believe. In fact, she was a hell of a lot better than Korn who has obvious lost whatever musical ability they had left. Put them in the same category as limpbizkit for being The Band Who Butchered A Classic I Loved. How do you fuck up One so badly? Jonathan, seriously, figure out where you went wrong and work on it. And make music I can listen to again without gagging. Sincerely, someone who used to care. b) James makes me happy. He's really sweet and goofy during the whole show, but when he gets up onstage to perform, you can tell he's just been itching to blow all the other bands out of the water. It was a real "let me show you how to do it *right*" moment. Also, seeing him with Francesca. Happy-making at its finest. In less fun news, my online time will be limited from now on since my job has been changed to something else. I'll let everyone else know the details later, but for now, I'm going to bask in my Metallica love. |
| Wednesday, July 2nd, 2003 |
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"You will be a winner today. Pick a fight with a three-year-old." QuickOffice 2000 caption for July 2, 2003 This is sort of a good news/bad news dealie: the good news is that I'm being taught how to handle incoming calls and appointments, which means I'll be working downstairs almost exclusively now; the bad news is that I'm getting this duty because none of my agents are giving me any work to do. At this rate, I may be out of a job pretty soon. Sigh. All I wanted was one lousy career that I enjoyed getting up at six a.m. for, that's all. Bitch, bitch, bitch, whine, whine, whine, grumble, mutter, moan, fuck. So I'm looking for a new job. What else can I do? You know whose death I really mourn? Buddy Hackett's. I remember being ten and watching The Love Bug with my father and sister for the first time in a huge theater in India. Dean Jones was one of my many loves, but Buddy Hackett made me laugh. I hope he was surrounded by family and friends and telling jokes when he died. I taped the OLP thing. I don't think there are words for just how insane Raine is during a performance. He fucking twirls onstage, all right? Not quite in a ballerina way, but it's close enough to twirling to make me goggle in amazement. Favorite live song? One Man Army. Don't know why, but it just got me. And Innocent isn't as vile when it's sung live, so there you go. Twitch. Changed my name to Hong Kong Phooey because I miss that cartoon a lot. And because some days, I feel like Henry, the mild-mannered janitor with a secret identity that's just as goofy as the regular one. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. |
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Note to self: deciding to read Stephen King books and then watch Exorcist III just before going to bed was possibly the stupidest decision you have ever made. And this is including your disastrous relationship with that pothead moron you dated in high school for, like, a nanosecond. I know you thought that Exorcist III wasn't really scary, but guess what, loser? It is! Yes, Brad Dourif really knows how to get your motor running, but he is also more than just a touch frightening in his role and it did actually keep you *awake* for half the night. As well, let's not forget that little scene where a cloaked killer trailed after a nurse with a knife in his hand and it all happened in total silence. That freaked you out more than you care to admit, didn't it? That was why you kept on jerking out of your restless sleep every five seconds, because you kept seeing that image in your brain every time you closed your eyes. And just what were you thinking reading Stephen King stories again? You know you always end up covering yourself with a blanket, even if it's hot as hell outside, because you can't bear to leave yourself uncovered in case something slithers up from under the bed and... touches you. Look, read anything else. You've still got Douglas Adams to finish off, hopefully before the end of this century or the fair maiden will wallop you a good one. And you have that City Watch trilogy to complete. Read those. They don't give you nightmares or weird dreams. Stop immersing yourself in horror! And no, pointing out that you didn't watch The Ring is not a valid excuse. You still caused yourself a sleepless night with everything else that you read or watched, you loser. Stop doing that to yourself or you're going to get more inexplicable dreams about celebrities and carnivals. Sincerely, Your irritable, cranky, sleep-deprived body. |
| Tuesday, July 1st, 2003 |
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Highlights of Our Lady Peace: Exposed (which, kriski, I will tape for you along with the OLP concert if I ever get the VCRs set up) that I just taped:
By the way, Ghost Ship is actually quite freaky and well made, despite some plot incoherencies. Besides, any movie with Isaiah Washington (hoo, baby, he is fine!), Gabriel Byrne (meow!), Karl Urban (with an American accent, no less) and Juliana Marguiles (can I keep her?) is well worth the money, in my book. Plus, you know, Desmond Harrington:  And I'm eternally grateful to new_at_this for pointing him out to me all those weeks ago. I won't say he's the reason I bought Ghost Ship (he's not, I bought it because I'm a sucker for ghost stories), but he is the reason I enjoyed it just a little bit more.In other news, I've been trying to post a reply to violetisblue's entry for the past two hours, but since LiveJournal is still on its improvement kick, I have been unable to do so. My wise advice is lost for all ages! All right, so not really, but it can't hurt to pretend. Not like anyone will ever know what I was going to say, so nyeah to the lot of you.Addition: You all envy me, as well you should. ( I am Tonks. If you know what this means, you may click the cut-tag since you've obviously read OotP. The rest of you, amscray so you won't be spoiled. ) |
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Insert bilious, raging, pointless, creative swearing about the utter ineptitude of LiveJournal and its various "improvement" kicks that don't really improve anything but my ability to curse repeatedly, here. LiveJournal is what would happen if His Bradness ran the government. There's your political thought for the day. Now my quota's filled up and I must go watch scary movies to calm myself down. |
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Dreams: Frighteningly violent dreams wherein Denis Leary plays a villainous carnival owner who threatens to kill me if I don't entertain the masses like he wants me to. I refuse and run away, only to have him try to throw me in a combination woodchipper/sewing machine. He gets caught in it, but halfway up there, he turns into Callum Keith Rennie and as I try to stop the machine, the giant needle pierces through his skin and horrifyingly loud, never-ending screams erupt. I plug my ears up, but I can still hear them, and I close my eyes, but I can still see what's going on. I wake up feeling confused and crummy. I don't even want to know what this dream meant. Music: I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm never going to like any band that music snobs can tolerate. I suppose everyone needs to be the musical lame-o, so I might as well take on the role. Not that I mind much anyway. Secondly, MuchMusic is going to broadcast Our Lady Peace's "Fear of the Trailer Park" tour on Wednesday, July 2 at nine p.m. So you OLP fans in Canada who get MuchMusic, go wild with it. If I can, I'll see if I'm able to dub the concert for a couple of people who ask, but I might not be able to, so don't expect too much. As well, MuchMoreMusic is showing a bio on Nickelback this Friday, July 4 at nine p.m. It's Chad with the new haircut! And Bill Welychka doing an interview with them. The pretty will kill me. Plus, "pre-megafame moments"! This of course means when Chad looked like the gangly hippie boy he is, Ryan looked like a baby-faced choirboy, Mike had his original hair color, and Nik had long, fluffy hair. I'm going to point and laugh constantly. Movies: I'm going to watch Ghost Ship and The Ring since I got them dirt-cheap at my local Blockbuster. I'll probably never get to sleep tonight, but who needs sleep anyway? Food: Toasted cinnamon and sundried tomato bagels with Philadelphia cream cheese is the stuff of gods. I know it sounds unappetizing, but once you try it, you'll never want anything else. Happy Canada Day, Canadians. It's a beautiful day for it. |
| Monday, June 30th, 2003 |
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I wish I had a bigger version of this picture because I love it so much. Lookit his little belly! Chad is just cute. Cute, cute, cute, I don't care what anyone says, I don't care if you find him ugly, I don't care if Chart makes up a list of The World's Ugliest People and he tops the list, he is cute. And yes, I'm well aware I'm making a complete ass out of myself, but I don't care about that either. I can regain my dignity another time. His little belly! |
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My stomach hurts. Too much food. Owwie. |
| Sunday, June 29th, 2003 |
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I just finished watching Picture Claire and I'm utterly fascinated by it. It's just such a different movie from what I expected a Bruce McDonald film to be. I was expecting something along the lines of Hard Core Logo, something raw and intense and violent and angry, but this film follows a different route in terms of look and feel. ( Don't read if you don't want to be spoiled for the movie. ) The rain they've been predicting for two weeks is finally here, although it's coming in dribs and drabs. I'd like a raging storm that goes on for hours before it finally tapers off tomorrow in the early morning. Falling asleep to the sound of the rain is one of the great pleasures in life. Must go have lunch. I'm starved. |
| Saturday, June 28th, 2003 |
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My room is now a room, but my back is a mess because of all the squatting I had to do to get my room organized. Still, all my books, CDs, magazines, and movies are all in order, so I'm happy. Jesus Christ, I have too much fucking stuff, none of it edifying. That's just the way I like it. My mother and I are bonding over Johnny Cash. She's loved him since my dad introduced her to him all those years ago; I've just gotten into him because of 'American IV: The Man Comes Around'. Her favorite song is A Boy Named Sue while mine so far is City Of New Orleans. It's been one of those lovely, quiet moments where another familial bond gets knitted between the both of you, but you're so busy enjoying the experience that you don't notice. I feel for my mother because I've been a total bitch to her for the last few months, and I don't know why. I suppose I'm restless about certain parts of my life and I take it out on her, which isn't fair. I'm trying not to do that anymore. She has enough stress in her life, she doesn't need more from me. I'm really too out of it to say anything of importance. Although The Toronto Star had this wonderfully candid last interview of Richard Harris (wherein he bitched about reporters only wanting to talk about the bloody Harry Potter movie and said he only ever did the role because his granddaughter threatened to never speak to him again if he didn't play Dumbledore) that just reminded me of how much I miss him, but I can't find it online, I can't scan it in since my scanner isn't plugged in, and I don't have time to type it up. I think it's an interview worth reading just for the bit where Richard says he was beautiful when he was young, but because of his past behavior, he's become an old, haggard bag of bones. Something inside me wept at that unflinching view of himself. ( Bassist love. Of the Our Lady Peace variety. Go figure. ) Time to go do all my errands. I won't be on tonight since we're having a celebratory dinner for my brother. Stay safe. |
| Friday, June 27th, 2003 |
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My brother graduated from high school last night so I spent all of last evening at the ceremony. Since his high school (Catholic school named after Mother Teresa; I went there, my sister went there, we were glad to have escaped it) has, shall we say, undergone some fairly rough times, they held the whole thing in the school gym. In the sweltering heat. Top this off with long, meandering speeches that were occasionally punctuated by humiliating mistakes (they announced that the wrong kid had won an award only *after* he'd already collected the plaque), and you can understand why my parents and I were not as bouncy and excited as we could've been. We were stricken brain-dead by the disgustingly thick air that seemed to physically weight us down, but thank God that the school installed industrial-type fans and handed out bottles of water or we would've croaked. The ceremony itself was really pleasant and it was really good to see so many students graduate with honors and distinctions. I know my old alma mater has a reputation for being a shitty school, but these students had really pushed themselves to make a difference in their schoolwork and community. They won tons of awards last night, which my ass protested, but my heart was glad to see them so enthusiastic about the world ahead of them. It reminded me of my own graduation and in that moment, we had a kinship of sorts. Seven years apart, but still a kinship. And my brother was in their thicket. He looked so handsome in his suit and tie, a big smile on his face as he hung out with his friends and laughed at all their jokes. I've never loved him more than in that moment, where I saw him as I'd never seen him before: a man with his own life to lead. This morning was spent watching the Swollen Members' Exposed special and trying not to make happy noises. It was also spent resisting the lure of buying the Our Lady Peace live DVD because, you know, I don't actually *like* the band. But I seem to be incapable of resisting. If, and I say this often, only I had the ability to screencap. I'd share the wealth. Note to self: stop writing up diatribes against celebrities in your head because it prevents you from falling asleep when you desperately need it. Thank God I had no access to a computer or I'd spew out all my bitter disappointment at I should've gotten more sleep. I just confused the fuck out of an agent by asking him about the wrong property and then made it worse by not remembering his name. Sleep: it's not just for addicts anymore! Make the world stop, Mommy, I want to get off. |
| Thursday, June 26th, 2003 |
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Shortened version: Bad dreams about people I'm no longer friends with, my brother's graduating from high school today, and I didn't get the Wiley & Sons job. Other than that, it's been a normal day. I'm also wearing a too-short skirt and my Steve Madden sandals. I feel pretty and voluptuous today. And no, I'm not feeling blue about anything. I'm actually feeling pretty good about life. |
| Wednesday, June 25th, 2003 |
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So, I've been irritable and cranky all fucking day long. While I haven't snapped at people, I've given them loads of dirty looks and sighed with exasperation under my breath. Because, you know, silent anger is just *so* effective. Passive-aggressiveness, thy name is Minette. It's not because work is boring (because it's actually fairly interesting), it's just that for the past month, I've been tired and dizzy, no matter how much sleep I get. I always feel like I'm about to faint and I seem to be more susceptible to headaches these days. On the plus side, look at all the interesting maladies I can talk about in this journal! You've already skimmed past my entry, haven't you? So, to keep myself from jabbing someone with a broken pen, I'm going to make a list of things that make me happy:
Must remember to buy batteries for my (pilfered) Discman. I have to listen to We're A Happy Family (the Ramones tribute album) and giggle over Stephen King writing in the liner notes just because Rob Zombie asked him to. Fun! |
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The shortened version of yesterday: Tired when I wake up, tired when I'm at work, and tired when I go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat, ad fucking nauseam. I'm now reading Chuck D's Fight the Power and while I don't agree with everything the man says, it's a fascinating read. I'm reading it back-to-back with How To Be A Canadian (Even If You Are One) by Will and Ian Ferguson. This leads to a very interesting experience since both are really about the fluidity and misconceptions about certain identities, whether based on race or country, and how false portrayals can negatively affect an entire population. The only difference is in how each approaches the subject: Chuck D is serious whereas the Ferguson brothers are irreverent to the point of sharp-tongued offense. I like both. ( Click. ) In other news, real estate agents are lazy, dithering sods who have no fucking clue how to do even the simplest of tasks. Like, say, figuring out how to fix a goddamn photocopier when it jams up. Honestly, I thought it was just a stereotype that higher-ups had no clue how to work a fax machine, but it turns out that the stereotype is true. Whoda thunk it? I want to be at home right now. |
| Tuesday, June 24th, 2003 |
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Well, in a way, this is spamming. I haven't updated this regularly since I got this journal. I suspect not having an internet connection at home is responsible for this. Well, that and complete boredom at work, despite my workload. For those of you who are doing that '20 Anonymous Things About Your Friends List' meme, I would like the following to be said about me: "I don't know, you seemed normal when I added you." Thank you. We're done with the majority of the move, or at least done enough that we're living in the new place. It's neat, I like it. Slept with my window open last night and enjoyed the cool night breeze that filtered through my flannel pajamas. I slept in flannel pajamas on one of the hottest days of the year so far. I swear the heat's addled my brain. I'm going to be decorating my room this weekend. I *finally* get to put up all my old posters and find a new place for that gigantic Headstones poster that jericho1 gave me all those months ago. I love my room. It's got a long corridor built into the room and a window that looks out over the room and onto the street. It's bigger than my old room, but what makes me really happy is that it seems cozy and secretive and mine. If my beds weren't taking up so much room, I'd roll on the floor in happiness, like a puppy enjoying itself.Heard most of Santana's new album yesterday and just fell in love. I only bought it for that fucking collaboration with Chad Kroeger, but the whole album is beautiful and rhythmic and spiritual in a sense. Wish I could play guitar like that. Cable guys are supposedly coming today, so maybe I'll have an internet connection by this evening. If not, I'll just read more of The Book I Dare Not Name (J.K. Rowling would've loved that bad pun) since I'm hooked on it. I'll save the review and babble for much, much later, like when everyone on my friends list has already read it and won't lynch me for accidentally giving them spoilers. My new home feels like a new lease on life. Funny that. |
| Monday, June 23rd, 2003 |
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I love the QuickOffice 2000 captions that run at the bottom of the screen. Sometimes, they just make no fucking sense and that's fine by me. I've finished reading The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub because I wanted to read the sequel to it, Black House. I'm vaguely ambivalent about the story: great plot, good characters, but sometimes, everything came off as too dull. I don't know if it's Straub's writing or King's pacing, but there were sections of the story that should've been more captivating and they just weren't. Part of the problem was their 'talk about a major trauma and then show it in flashbacks' technique, something I hate because it's rarely done well. But I thought the writing, for the most part, was superb and the story, once it got going, just pulled you in and didn't let you go. There were some scenes that almost made me cry, like when certain characters died or when they talked about family and friendship. I love King (and now Straub) when he brings humanity to his characters. He may be the horrormeister, but he also knows how to make his creations human and frail enough to touch your heart. I'm fairly surprised that I could recognize some of the King-isms in the book (like "beautiful" being used as a term of sarcastic endearment, which was used again in Dreamcatcher), but I suppose after years of reading his work, I should be able to recognize at least a few things. There's almost a constant mention of men briefly falling in love with the protagonist (a 12-year-old boy, so how's that grab ya?) because of the pure, clean beauty of his face and his quest. Sometimes, King just makes it too easy. In short: worth checking out. I'm going to read the sequel at some point and see if it measures up to, or surpasses, the original. The MuchMusic Video Awards were fun to watch. George and Bradford win the Best Dressed VJs award in my mind, and Nam is simply too sweet, sexy and funny to not love. And, dude, what the fuck was up with Jen's Bride of Frankenstein hair? Only Elsa Lancaster could pull that look off. Ed the Sock is the funniest motherfucker I've ever seen on TV (his interviews with Sum41, and Chris Jericho and Trish Stratus during the awards ceremony were fucking priceless) and I wish he hosted more shows. I love and adore everyone in Swollen Members becaues they're great, and for once, Eminem's acceptance speech was hilarious, thanks to 50 Cent's cameo. As well, Sean Paul is simply adorable in interviews. Smooches, baby, you can host a party in my basement anytime. Sam Roberts came to the awards in a beat-up '90s Chevy that belonged to his guitarist! I love Sam so much. And Our Lady Peace didn't sound good live (as usual when it comes to every awards show they're in), but they looked good. Raine was dressed in fatigues, looked scruffy and tanned, and smiled every time he heard the crowd scream. Jeremy Taggart was wearing a tank top and growing a goatee; odd look tht somehow suits him. Steve and Duncan were all rock star'd up, but still managed to look like they'd snuck out from their Oshawa homes for a beer run. I love it. Lastly, Avril Lavigne won me over with her utter charm and fantastic performance onstage. I take back every criticism I've ever made of her because if you put her in her natural element, she's funny, audacious, and talented. For such a little woman, she's got a great big voice. Everything in my room is cleaned out. We're moving the last of our stuff into the new house where we'll be spending the night tonight. I'm updating from work because I'm lame and can't be arsed to think about work yet. I hate Mondays. |
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