Tuesday, March 30, 2004
1. There is no such thing as Forever, Never, or Just This Once.
2. There is no such thing as No Strings Attached.
3. There is no such thing as Unconditional.
4. If you didn't pay for it, put it back or throw it out.
5. If it looks too good to be true, shut your eyes.
6. If you're the only one laughing, the joke's on you.
7. If you're the only one crying, see rule #3
8. Those who find an exception to rules #1 through #7 should adhere to rule #5.
9. Words lead to Notions, Notions to Beliefs, Beliefs to Actions, and Actions to Destiny - in short, keep your fat trap shut.
10. If you can't say it in 20 minutes, what makes you think you'll be able to say it in 120 minutes?
Friday, March 26, 2004
Sunday, March 21, 2004
You learn to fake recognition and trust your instincts. (Lord ahmighty, I sound like the dude on Momento.) When I feel lost, I first look around for clues as to what i'm doing and where I'm going. If that fails me, I turn to John and beg him for help. He's a good lad, and so far hasn't called me a nutcase . . . at least not to my face. I swear, I should give him a nanny's salary for the past few days.
Shadi brought me back a really chouette present from San Antonio - a brass ring with my name chisled into the metal. I used to have one of these when I was a child, oddly enough. However, I lost the first ring one day in a field near my middle school, and never saw it again. It's disappearance damn near broke my heart. Shadi's gift looks EXACTLY like it - from the font to the material. Amazing. What a fond little token!
Friday, March 19, 2004
For starters, I'll say what was good about it: excellent and incredibly atmospheric sets, soundtrack, and costumes. The original languages were a nice touch. I really appreciated the historical accuracy. Oh yeah, and I thought Gibson's interpretation of Satan was totally awsome. +2 for decent representation of evil forces.
That said, the film itself was far to "in media res" to be effective. It jumped way too quickly into Jesus's violent capture and subsequent torture for a non-Christian such as myself to connect emotionally with the character; unless you entered the theater already in love with Jesus and his story, the whole movie seemed like 2.5 hours of senseless violence. I mean, for all the build-up The Passion delivered, it might as well have been a snuff flick about torturing some random Middle-Eastern peasant.
For this reason, I found the movie deeply disturbing. Themes of sacrifice and redemption took backstage to prolonged, graphic, wantonly cruel violence. Each scene had all the tasteful artistic finesse of a Marilyn Manson video. As an audience member, I felt as if I had 2 choices - cry, or numb-out in shock. I think I did a little of both.
Afterwards I felt neither hopeful nor reflective; as a matter of fact, I'd never been more turned-off to Christianity in my life. I expected to respect the film - or even like it - but I’m sorry to say I can do neither.
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Nemesis
?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
Monday, March 15, 2004
At any rate, New Orleans is a pretty kicking place. As I write these words, i sit in a 4 star hotel, before a borrowed laptop, sipping chamomile tea and trying not to vomit. So far, I've been almost entirely successful.
The true reason for my visit is to see Tulane College first hand. It's my best prospect at the moment, and I might as well scope it out. I like what I saw; the facilities, dorms, amenities, location, and students suit me just fine. I think i could be happy here. Hell, there's a sushi bar in the food court and a coffee place in the center of the dorms. That's all i need to survive.
Oh SHYTE. My efforts have FAILED.
Sunday, March 14, 2004
A large green truck rear-ended my car, the other day. Much to my dismay, Shadi was in the car as well and got a touch of whiplash. The roads were slick with rain, you see. Some dipshit 3 cars ahead of me stopped short, the car behind him stopped short, and so on and so forth. I only just missed the car in front of me by mere inches, but my tail got nipped.
Not hard, mind you - just enough to crack the bumper. It shall have to be replaced. Oh how I lament the loss of my stickers!
Still, I must admit, it's rather refreshing to be involved in an accident and tell my dad with certainty: "It's not my fault!"
*****
My brother Calder sleeps with his eyes open. Literally. I came across him in the living room yesterday afternoon, dozing away, eyelids slackened, displaying his irises through narrow slits. Although I have witnessed this phenomenon before, it is nevertheless disquieting. I stood before him, waved my hands, brought my finger within milimeters of his exposed eyeball, and still he did not stir. Then, i poked his shoulder. Sleep peeled back from his occular globes like an invisible nictating membrane before he kicked me for disturbing his slumber. God we're weird people.
*****
Ok, if Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, why does Goofy get to wear clothing, speak, drive cars, and walk upright whereas Pluto spends his days naked in a dog house and barks incoherently while romping about on all fours?
The mystery lives on.
I can only come to two viable conclusions:
1. Pluto has autism
2. Pluto acts as a communal massochistic slave for all the other disney characters, and willingly submits himself to such base treatment. In fact, he can't live without it. He needs the shame and abuse. He lovesthat collar. God only knows what happens in Toon-town after hours . . . .
*****
I own 5 outfits made entirely out of PVC plastic - including two with boning and lacings. I only realized that the other day, going through my closet. I suspect that there may be something wrong with me.
Thursday, March 11, 2004
"Jake," said Mr. Rice chidingly, "don't you have command of the english language? What about diction and projection?"
Before Jake could answer, I called from the back row - "I dunno Mr. Rice, but from back here it seems that his diction is projecting juuuust fine!" then grinned stupidly and pretended to stare wide-eyed at the poor boy's crotch.
BAM. Direct comedic hit. Insert uproarious laughter. Pleasing these kids is easy - you just have to get on the lowest common denominator.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
Look guys, if you don't like my blog, don't read it. Simple as that. No one is making you look at it. I certainly wouldn't want to cut into your wanking time if you don't enjoy what i put here.
Or at least, include your name on the comments feature if you're going to flame me. Have the courage to openly state your opinions.
Oh yeah. This just in: I am the messiah, privy to the voice of God.
Update: That was the TV. False alarm.
Sunday, March 07, 2004
Paste: http://www.dianastears.50megs.com/scary.jpg
However, I was much surprised to see the ursine contender practically mop the arcade with his lesser rival. Amazing. I've never seen a big man move so fast, possessed by the spirit of DDR, and jumping like a madman on crystal meth!
When it came to my turn, I must confess that I did rather poorly. You see, my shoes had leather soles, and every step I took on the slick platform threatened to send me right on my ass. C'est la vie. I managed well enough to beat the crap out of my friend Kevin, bless his rythm deficientcy.
I met his girl Alyssa while i was up there, too. She's a fine young lady - articulate, liberal (politically), tolerant (personally), a matchless conversationalist, and a wonderous companion for Kevin. Nice to see them doing well.
Friday, March 05, 2004
paste these in:
http://www.dianastears.50megs.com/hairside.jpg
http://www.dianastears.50megs.com/hairback.jpg
I got a little glum, so i livened things up with a few FUSCHIA highlights. We be stylin'.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
I look like a smack jockey! You have no idea how many teachers pulled me aside today.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
MEET HAROLD . . .
. . . a lower middle class drine with an unremarkable past and uncertain future. Harold lives with his wife and 2.3 children in a quaint suburban condominium. Every morning, he wakes up, gulps down several cups of coffee (despite his doctor's warnings about developing ulcers) and commutes 45 minuts into the city for a day of hard work.
Since his latest promotion, Harold has his very own cuibicle. The requisite motivational statements and bland family portraits decorate his workspace. Harold sits down in his ergonomic desk chair and sighs with simple contentment; he is, at last, master of all he surveys.
Harold spends his morning tackling the imperative quandry of glazed versus jelly donuts before shifting into thirteen dynamic rounds of computerized black-jack. Before he knows it, it's time for lunch. How the day flies! After a meal of refined flour, sodium, and saturated fat, Harold returns to his desk. There, he cranks-out the modicum of spreadsheets and emails his position requires, and gossips with coworkers until quitting time.
Upon arriving home, Harold greets his wife in the kitchen as she prepares frozen potato portions and a package of Hamburger Helper. His children, lost to the allure of X-box, remain in the living-room, oblivious to their father's return. Dinner is served on plastic flatware, and without conversation or ceremony. While his wife clears the table, Harold retreats to the sanctity of the master bedroom and ambivalently watches sitcoms to numb his mounting sense of self-doubt and dissatisfaction. Soem hours later, Harold's fatuige outweighs the captivating antics of "Fraiser", and he shuts his eyes.
