Monday, January 30, 2006
or
The Physics of Psychology
I won't name names, gentle readers, but I will bitch and moan about certain individuals. Especially when they ruin my outfit in the middle of the day.
You know who you are, girl who greets everyone by leaping on them. YES, it was YOU who spoiled my black lycra, satin ribbons, and sterling disposition. You crept up behind me in the food court and hurled your body at mine. You spilled my boiling hot tea. Everywhere. On all of us, the table, Adam's lunch, my coat, the carpet, EVERYTHING. And it burned! It was so hot!
What you don't know was that I heard you coming. Adam whispered "She's coming," (we had been talking about your inappropriate conduct) and in a trice, I heard your small feet smacking the short-nap carpet. I knew you would leap on me - you always do. The tea. I should put down my tea, I thought.
But no. If I didn't put it down, perhaps you would spill it and learn your lesson. I would suffer a little, as would Adam and several other bystanders. But that didn't matter. You would be the one that made us suffer. You would spill the tea. You would remember our faces as we were burned. You would fucking LEARN SOMETHING for once because public humiliation is the only method that sticks with you long enough to do some good.
So I held the tea. And waited. And you leapt on me, spilling the tea as I had predicted. And after I had cleaned the liquid from my body, I chewed you out in front of everyone.
And maybe now you'll stop.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
or
The Woman Who Would Be King
I've come up with a new goal, gentle readers: to create a living community of mismatched bohemians, establish myself as their King, and fuel their eccentricities with school-funded tomfoolery.
No, my medication does not need to be adjusted. It can be done. Legally.
One of the residential areas on campus - the Village - has a program that allows one to build a community based on common interest. The "agent" (King) gets 5 to 23 of her closest friends in on the plan, writes a proposal, and if said proposal is accepted, the group gets to live in adjacent rooms in one of the Village buildings. But THAT'S not ALL! The agent (King) also receives funding from the school to spend on group activities. YES. The hour is at hand.
What sort of group have I devised, you ask? Well, there was already one for heavily-pierced meth cooks, so I had to scrap that idea. [For the humorless: the previous statement was a JOKE.] I've decided on the Carpe Diem Society (the Dead Poet's Society was also taken). Our common interest will be living live to the fullest our overloaded academic schedules will allow. Possible activities include group visits to art galleries, the city museum, cinema nights, cooking parties, arts-'n-crafts night (go pipecleaners!), massive games of freeze tag (when it gets warm), group outings to local shows, and anything else that sounds like fun. Whatever. I'm sure the other kids will have suggestions.
Bottom line: if you are a Wash U student and would like to live in my peacable kingdom, drop me a message at lrdennis@artsci.wustl.edu. We'll talk.
My other obsession today is not so upbeat. At Andrew's party last night, I spied the girl who had let me stay with her when I was a visiting pre-frosh. She looked like she was about to die. Her bodyfat was so low that she reminded me of a diagram in my high school biology text - a human body, drawn without skin to show the placement of every muscle, vein, and sinew. Her eyes were sunken and yellow. Her flesh had gone the color of sour milk and was covered in lanugo - a fine, white fuzz that the body produces in an effort to keep warm.
I broke down. I ran to one of the bedrooms and howled, undone by a sickening mixture of horror and curiousity.
She needs help. Her RA, her parents . . . someone . . . open your eyes!
Friday, January 27, 2006
or
LESBIANS!
I'll admit it, gentle readers. I have nothing better to do at 4am than update my blog. Are you happy now? What? Sleep? No, of course not. I quit. (If you don't know about my sleeping habits, you haven't been reading long enough. When I say insomniac, I don't mean one of those people who likes to stay up late to impress their friends. I am bored at 4am on a school night, because I don't really feel like taking a cup o' liquid lullaby.)
So I've been up to some shit. And stuff. Yeah. And I'm going to tell you about it. Why? Because you can't beat my life for intrigue and significance. My personal reports are simply paramount!
For example, on tuesday, Kay and I took advantage of the lovely weather by walking around town. Somewhere between Delmar and Wash U, a truck full of rough-looking males stopped at the light and started hollering at us. We realized after a moment or two that they thought Kay was a girl. (To their credit, it's not a hard mistake to make if you're both narrow-minded and sexually frustrated.) I broke into my usual coy grin, sideways glance, and blush routine. Kay, however, didn't miss a beat. He pulled me close and made out with me, right there on the sidewalk. This incited an uproar among the truck's occupants that was audible even as the light turned green and they pulled away.
Sometimes I want to marry that man.
I think I'm going to start a club. I'll call it Prime Ministers of Death, and to get in, you have to dress in black all the time and play with your gender. We'll be the coolest club in the fucking world - the most exclusive, mysterious, renound, picturesque, and poignant group ever assembled. We'll change the world by crying in our coffee ice-cream and reapplying eye-liner in class. FUCK YEAH!
And now, the coolest damn photo you ever layed glazzies on:
Now, I ask you, gentle readers: who is carrying whom? Or have we simply become one creature? Bwahaha!
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Personally, I'm hoping for a hit from every continent.
Monday, January 23, 2006
or
A Party Fit for a King
In case you missed it, gentle readers, I had a party on Saturday night. What better way to celebrate returning to my studies than a great big bash at my place? And oh, it was such a success, I can't even begin to describe it.
Several of my guests noticed that the Leader or Poster-child of every single major subculture at Wash U had attended: Frat boys, goth kids, hippies, gamer geeks, RA's, atheletes, hipsters, exchange students, honor students, and drop-outs. Even Bryan, who doesn't attend Wash U, made his debut appearance. (Watch out, ladies!) All partying side by side in my apartment.
I received a new title. My friend Jana declared that I was "The King of Wash U" because the nobles of every walk of life convene at my "court."
King. I like that. Simple, yet to the point. I think I'll put that on a t-shirt.
As for relativity, suppose - and this is completely hypothetical gentle readers. Suppose that a soccer-ball sized hole appeared in one's drywall after a wild birthday party. Try to imagine that. That would be a rather large hole, wouldn't you say? It might, metaphorically speaking, put a hole in the tenant's piece of mind. Cause a bit of worry. It might look enormous in her imagination. Gigantic. A perilous portal into the world of home repair.
But then suppose that a second hole - this one, the size of a college freshman - appeared in the adjacent drywall after another raucous party (just suppose, people). The first hole would suddenly appear a lot less severe, don't you think? The tenant might even wonder why she had worried about it in the first place! haha!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
or
Absolut Bull
Seeing as school is back in session, I thought it might be appropriate to talk about one of my favorite recreational drugs: caffeine.
Gentle readers, I love energy drinks. I NEED 'em. Can't get enough of them - the "lo-carb" or sugar free ones at least (damn those pesky calories). For the record, my favorite are sugar-free Red Bull and lo-carb Monster. Sobe Sugar-free Adrenaline Rush tastes like ass. So does Sugar-free Rockstar. Bachus-F (an obscure Korean brand in a tiny 3oz bottle) is pretty good too, even though it isn't sugar free. I can't vouch for any others.
Not everyone likes energy drinks. A lot of people just don't know how good they can be. For those of you who have never tried an energy drink, I've prepared a timed transcript of my own experience with a can of sugar-free Monster at work last night. Perhaps you will find it educational.
4.29pm: First sip of monster. The soda's leukwarm temperature emphasizes its guarana flavor. It tastes kind of like fruit roll-ups. Fruit roll-ups rolled in nutrisweet (it's a LO-CARB monster). Nevertheless, my brain has come to associate the noxious taste with caffeine's quivering embrace. So I keep drinking. By the third sip, I almost enjoy it. I feel more energetic already.
4.45pm: "You gotta drink this stuff slowly, you know? Can't go too fast, or it'll make ya sick."
"Can I have some?"
"No."
4.52pm: The caffeine strikes. Oh, oh boy. I've consumed about half of the 16oz can. My nerves begin to sing and my hands become flighty. My typing accuracy suffers, but I can strike the keys at a much faster rate. My mouth tastes like sweetened bile. I love this.
5.01pm: I have a heart spasm. I decide to lay off the sauce for a few minutes.
5.08pm: Back on the sauce. And I am wiiiiide awake. Really. I couldn't open my eyes any wider if I tried. It has become difficult to stay focused on one task for very long. I find myself switching between notepad, aim, firefox, calculator, and photoshop at random. Multitasking doesn't quite cover it. I'm getting a whole lot of nothing done. And how. YEEHAW!
5.10pm: Again with the heart palpitations. Since I don't work out, I am inclined to conider this exercise. It does get my heart-rate up.
For a while, they thought red bull (and other energy drinks) were really dangerous. Apparently some dudes in Sweden died after combining red bull with strenuous exercise and/or alcohol. Sucks to be them. The current verdict is, however, that the stuff is perfectly safe. As safe as coffee, at least. And yes, you can use it as a mixer. An "Absolut Bull" is not going to kill you. Unless you drink like, 5 of them, and have an unusual sensitivity to caffeine.
5.20pm: I've consumed about 3/4 of the can. The caffeine peak has passed. In a streak of desperation, I decide to chug the remaining 4oz of cringingly sweet fluid. Gawd. Ugh.
5.25pm: Another peak washes over me. I think it would be a good idea to take my federally mandated break and skip about outside. No, maybe not. It's cold. NO, wait, it was warm today and I have a coat. No, wait, I have homework I could be doing. But I'm not doing it, am I? HAHA! No, I'm going outside and I'm going to set something on FIRE. Or not. Coffee? No thanks, I quit.
5.39pm: Sleepy.
5.41pm: AWAKE! Hands shaking like leaves. The rush feels so good. Must . . . turn to . . . French homework . . . before . . . it's too late.
7.11pm: The crash. Shuuuutting dooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. At least my homework is done. Ugh. It actually takes effort to keep from falling asleep at the desk. I wish I had another Monster.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
or
How I Spent My Winter Vacation
To quote the bard (no, not that one; the other one), I have never let my schooling interfere with my education. For the last four weeks, gentle readers, I have been supplimenting my university studies with a fine selection of art, literature, and music. Here, for your enjoyment, is an overview of my curriculum.
Kay recently introduced me to Rammstein - a German industrial-metal group known for their timeless lyrics and inextinguishable stage presence.
Initially, I did not think much of them. We all remember "Du Hast," don't we? Thanks to overplay and my innate dislike for anything "hyped," I had decided that I hated Rammstein - without giving them so much as a chance. But their concert DVD changed all that.I'm a big fan of fire, gentle readers. A real big fan. Flaming microphones, sparking drum-sticks, blazing overcoats - Rammstein has it all. By the third or fourth potentially lethal pyrotechnic stunt, I was hooked. Fire. Heh heh. FIRE!!!
And their lyrics (or what I caught of them) were unforgettable. You see, I don't speak a word of German. Fortunately, I had Kay to keep me updated with fresh translations:
Me: Woah. That was a lot of fucking FIRE. Look at his forehead sweating! (End of first song leads into ballad-like introduction) What this next song called?
Kay: Heirate mich, which means "Marry Me."
Me: Oh.
Kay: It's about necrophilia.
Me: Oh?
Kay: (translating) "I take you tenderly by the arm, but your skin rips like paper,
and parts fall off of you; you escape me for the second time."
Me: That's deep. Kind of sad . . . WOAH, did you just see his boots explode?!
And good times were had by all.
Next on the list, a sweet little piece of non-fiction called The Woman With A Worm In Her Head: And Other True Stories Of Infectious Disease. I bought this gem on a masochistic whim; although I have an acute phobia of parasitic worms, I am simultaniously drawn to detailed accounts of human infestation. Go figure.
I was not to be disappointed. The book's title says it all. Within, I found stories about a man who dies of flesh-eating chickenpox, fatal hemmoragic bacterial infections, and - yes - a woman with a worm in her head. At first they thought it was an inoperable brain tumor. Apparently, the patient was overjoyed at the author's second opinion. Oh, a tapeworm ate its way into my brain. Is that all? Damn, I guess I should have saved for retirement! Eating for two, and what have you, hah hah hah . . .
*shudder* GGGHUUUHHH!
As for the realm of film, I took the time out of my *chortle* busy schedule to catch a showing of "Breakfast on Pluto." It's my latest favourite. If there's one thing I love more than movies about drag queens, it's movies about drag queens that have a happy ending. No, I'm serious. I'm not being sarcastic for once.
The acting was, in my opinion, sublime. The main character managed to sustain a potentially exhausting level of whimsy, while leaving just the right ammount of room for drama and heartache to collapse around him. I particularly enjoyed the lack of queer-beating. Costumes? Good. Score? Decent. Contrived? By god, yes. Supporting characters? Charming, well-drawn, and at times riveting. It's worth a view. Unless you don't like fairy tales. Or the Irish.Ta tah, for now. Stay cultured!
P.S. Spellcheck it yourself.
Monday, January 16, 2006
or
I'm Not Dead
Yes, gentle readers, I am still alive. Some have thought otherwise. I mean, what could be more important than pissing around online and flinging my pearls of wisdom into the gaping maw of cyberspace? (Not much, apparently. Although I haven't been updating, I haven't used the free time to do much beyond lie around feeling sorry for myself.)
But all that is over. School will be picking up again soon (tomorrow). I expect that my new classes will keep me challenged (overworked), awake (for days at a time), and free of the torpor that has held me prisoner throughout much of the winter break (seasonal depression). We'll see how it goes. More meaningful and interesting updates to come, I swear!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Exhibit A: my brothers. Observe Cameron's abject horror at Calder's glaze-eyed avarice. Such is the magic of Christmas!
Exhibit B: Mom, Calder, and myself. Looks like someone spiked the egg-nog. Rum? Truth serum? Dishwashing liquid? Only our carpet knows for sure. (Sadly enough, we're dead sober.)
This photo was taken mere hours before both Kay and yours-truly hugged so vigorously that the friction set my polyester dress on fire. Miraculously, my body hair emerged unscathed.
Armed with deadly style, Kay surveys a ballroom of potential victims. The police report would later describe how several dozen students "withered and imploded upon realizing that they were no longer the coolest person in the room."
Larkin explains to passers-by that her breasts, while suspiciously pert and alluring, are indeed natural.
There are some things I can't explain. This is not one of them.
Nor is this.
FIN
Sunday, January 01, 2006
or
"What is He On, and Where Can I Get Some?"
Happy scrappy, rah rah rah, you've heard it. I hope, gentle readers, that you had as much fun ringing in the new year as I did. Kay (who arrived in Houston on Friday afternoon to join me for Saturday's festivities) and I drove downtown on Saturday night and checked into a room at the Alden Hotel. We spent the night disheveling the suite, scourging the dance floor at a local goth club, and downing alternate draughts of so-so riesling and vanilla absolut vodka.
In a word: Sublime.
Havok night turned out to be the perfect place to take Kay. He dances magnificently, and the club's gloomy electronica kept both of us flailing and twisting until 2am. The lad really gets into his music. It's strange to watch his little body racked with ecstatic velocity, sliding and gyrating gracefully in every direction. You'd think he'd fall apart. Sometimes I joined him, sometimes I didn't. During my periods of wallflower voyeurism, random goth kids approached me to find out what Kay was "on."
Some Chick: "Hey, can I ask you a question?"
Me: "Sure."
SC: "That girl you came with, what is she on, and do you have any more?"
Me: "He's my boyfriend, actually. His name's Kay."
SC: (over very loud drum and bass) "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Me: "His name's Kay."
SC: "WHAT?!"
Me: "KAY!!!"
SC: "OH, NEVERMIND! I HATE THAT STUFF!"
For the record, what goes around comes around. Last week, when I went to Havok with my buddy Zack, we let this acid-head play with our glowsticks for about 2 hours straight. It made his night. Even though he swung them with such ferver that he maimed a few faces and wrecked the club's decor, I felt we had done the right thing.
Reciprocity is a splendid thing. Last night, I somehow arrived at the club without glowsticks. In case you didn't know, gentle readers, I love playing with glowsticks more than just about anything. How distressing to be on a beautiful, lively dance-floor without them! Suddenly, the acid-head from last week appeared with a pair of glowsticks with nylon poi already attached.
"These are for you, man," he said.
"Are you sure?" I replied.
"Yeah. You need them more than I do." He handed the glowsticks to me, took a bow, and disappeared.
Kay and I came across another interesting character - Dannie, a rather convincing 25 year old M to F transexual. She was there with her girlfriend J.J. Long story short, she bit my neck. And Kay bit the other side. At the same time. No further comment, your honor.
Skrink-lee-dee!
