(no subject)

Saw Big Fish today. Was blown away quite unexpectedly. Absolutely loved it, especially how the ending refrained from the cheesiness that has claimed so many others.

Sharpied/painted my last pair of blue jeans today. I think they look awesome. Other people may not. Screw that. They should have better things to do than read my pants anyway. Right? Right. Adorned with Operation Ivy, Smashing Pumpkins, Bad Religion, and Chuck Palahniuk. Can't be worn with the jacket, though, that's too much drawn-on denim (and I never thought I'd say that).

It's snowing. Now is the winter of my discontent. I really hardcore wish it weren't doing that.

I'm feeling sluggish and apathetic tonight. Being a blob in front of the computer. I'm getting an increasing desire to just punch out the screen, but that'd be a bad idea, so I'm not going to. Yesterday my Internet was down, and my cell phone has been lost since Sunday, and Mom made a crack about how I was disconnected from the world and how would I ever survive? Which has more than a grain of truth to it, isn't that pathetic? Not the cellphone so much as the Internet. Not a good thing to be hooked on.

Though my sister was watching TV the other night and I swear I could feel my brain bleeding. Television becomes so asinine if you don't watch it in a few months. Same with the radio, though we all knew that was coming.

So why the connection to the Internet (no pun intended)? One would think that, as another form of mass mainstream media, I'd not like that either. Who knows? Probably it's because I get a sense of pseudo-intellectualism from surfing, since it requires typing. And literacy. Or at least I require literacy (and spelling checks on the word "definite").

It's showing pictures of Ashton Kutcher though, which I don't appreciate. I am not a fan of his. Or the 13 year old instant celebrities on Nickelodeon that my sister was watching (god knows why, she's 17 and brighter than I'll ever be). You can hear the little sucking noise their souls make as they are ripped away.

Another thing that REALLY pisses me off is fashion reports from the Oscars and other awards ceremonies. Maybe I just don't have the genes for it (probably not, you've seen how I dress) but who in their right mind cares about what celebrities wear? One can argue for escapism, I suppose, or a passive interest in the haute coture, but come on. They take all the fun out of dressing. If I ever make it to some awards show, you best believe I'm going in sandals, fatigues, tshirt, and wonderfully unruly hair. Not even in the stylish "oh-look-I'm-nonconformist" way (conformingtononconformityisstillconformingpeople. suckonthathottopicshoppers). Fuck fashion critics.

The question arises again: do I have goals, as such, or expectations? I said I was starting this year with hopes rather than expectations, but hope is unreliable and you can fall a long way onto some pretty sharp rocks. Part of me is convinced that I will (that I have to) make my name known, either acting or playing music or writing... then we can see if I'm all talk on the celebrity front. I don't deny that I'd enjoy being famous, for a while. It'd probably be embarassing at first, but if all goes well, why not? An acid test to see how firm my stance on not-selling-out is. Like the Bosstones say: "I'm not a coward, I've just never been tested, I like to think that if I was I would pass." So. Test me. The other part is convinced that I'll never make it anywhere past a cheap apartment and a minimum wage job, all the aspirations and educations and calculations come to naught, so why really bother trying?

I do need to try, though. I know that, so don't tell me I do. Just putting it out there. It's hard to want to try, though, when it feels like all your creative energy is being sapped by some unknown incubi or succubi and you just sit trapped in front of a glowing computer screen for hours at a time, wondering just what would happen if you hauled off and punched it....

Freedom?

or just more problems?

(try as you might, symbolic solutions don't often work in the real world)

(no subject)

The connection whore has a new cell phone. This one has the internet on it, somehow, though I've not figured out how to make it work. I don't wanna think This thing is pretty fuckin' sweet but alas I do. A $350 phone for $50, cause of some value thing Motorola has going on. It has vibrate! Which is all I really wanted. So I can make Rufus Wainwright jokes with everyone else. So long as it doesn't give me cancer, I'll be alright.

Anyway, it doesn't have anything in the memory, so everyone who wants a part of the action should a) call the Phone Of The Future which conveniently has the same number as the old one (and watch me get confused at the new ring tone!) or b) drop me an IM with your info. Brilliant. Or text message me. I can do that now.