Friday, June 30, 2006

"Every civilization finds it necessary to negotiate compromises with its own values"

I watched the movie Munich in theaters. Afterward, my date and I sat in the car and discussed it, talked it out for hours before we could part. That's the only thing you can do with movies like that, those movies that press so heavily on you in the darkness of the theater that you need the endroll of the credits to come up for air - indeed, you didn't even realize you'd been holding your breath for those past several hours. Those are the movies that change you, maybe slightly, but they force you to confront the Real, and it takes the cathartic release of a discussion to nestle you back to the ideological confines of reality.

All this is to make my point that tonight, when a friend of mine rented Munich from On-Demand and we chatted online while he watched, the following conversation was necessary -
Friend: Be careful so you don't end up having seven-month-pregnant sex
Me: I won't ever be seven months pregnant, so don't worry.
Friend: Haha, no babies?
Me: I just hate the word "pregnant," so I refuse to be it. Ever.

And that's the most significant thing we took away together from this movie - that there was pregnant sex, and that I am picky about diction. Terribly picky.

Thursday, June 29, 2006


Some days I think I was made only to be an intellectual; to go about this life, book-in-hand, expending my days in careful, deep thought.

And then I miscalculate and fall off the couch, and every illusion I ever had about myself or my inherent grace and wisdom is shattered as my body lands unceremoniously on the carpet.

So I think I'll shatter some other illusions about myself:

- I'm not cold, passionless, and stoic. If I act that way, maybe it's because I don't want to be dodging any ill-timed kisses from you, sir. Or maybe I'm hoping you'll make the first move.

- I have incredibly soft skin. It's not natural; it's called "Jergen's Age-Defying Multivitamin" lotion. Apply daily.

- When I say that I'm only honest about 12% of the time - it's not that I'm lying, it's just that I'm not being fully candid.

- I kinda liked that Vanessa Carlton song. That one, with the piano, and the singing, and all the adolescent, whimsical hopes? Yep, that one.

- Sometimes when my away message is up, I'm actually still online, and probably chatting with someone. It helps me screen IM's, and get away from - maybe you.

- It's not that I don't like math. It's that I'm too lazy to bother caring.

- I don't take care of my cuticles.

I still wish I were graceful enough not to look like a failure, though. At least there weren't TOO, too many witnesses.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Makin' The Quote Lists

So the Kirbys invited us over for dinner and ice cream tonight, which was awesome. I love Matt and Jennifer, and their kids are cool too. We went over there the other day just to play with them, and I spent hours running around the house, playing a bastardized version of tag and having a BLAST.

But tonight. I'm pretty sure the exact words out of Jennifer's mouth were, "Druce, stop humping her head right now."

And that was my night. Yiiikes.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Yes, I Really Do Read Camus In Between Watching The Practice

I'm damp. Everything around me is infused with this damp. You see, it's been raining here straight, for about, oh, four years, give or take. Not one of those Utah drizzles, either; this is RAIN. With sometimes the accompanying clap of thunder, leading me to hope for all kinds of following weather pyrotechnics -- but the weather gods don't always oblige.

So I awoke today, with all the windows open, and the rain pouring down, and I felt damp. I read Camus, and as I turned the pages, I would feel damp. I pulled my blanket more tightly around me to somehow separate my body from this feeling of damp.

It didn't work, and now I must go out in the downpour.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

A Tip

Art was right. Going for a run and then stepping into a darkened bathroom, getting into the shower with your clothes still on and then peeling them off once they're fully one of the finer things in life.

It's hard to feel sexier than when you're sweaty, with adrenaline pumping through your body, standing in a shower, peeling your clothes off. Go try it sometime.

Monday, June 19, 2006

An Open Letter

Look. It's not my fault, okay? I know it may seem like I say that a lot, but really, it's because it's not.

I cannot help that I am awesome. (Yes, it's a known fact. Go look it up if you wanna. I could provide you with fistfulls of references, but I'm not the one with time for that kinda crap. I'm awesome, remember?) I cannot help that people are programmed to like awesome, so that you, out of human necessity, became drawn to me. Things like this happen; I blame Aristotle and his logic.

I wanted to hang out; I even planned on it. I told people. The thing is, I have these circles. Circles of loyalty, I call them. (Someone once told me that I should see a psychiatrist as I was trying to explain these loyalty circles to him, so I don't know how off-the-wall they really are, but it seems perfectly reasonable to me. So, since I'm cool with them, we're going to go with it.) Because, you see, I am only one person. And clones freak me out to maybe even an unnecessary degree, so that's certainly not an option for me. Instead, I suppose I prioritize people. The closer we are, the higher of a priority I make you. Also, the deeper your need for my help gets you a higher priority, but it seems somehow that the people I keep closest to me need maybe the most help. (See an earlier post, wherein I confessed that I like crazy. I think that explains it well enough. Or maybe just that I care more? Or both?)

You have no idea what's going on in my life, but I promise you that sleep has left off being any sort of priority for me. I get it in stolen snatches, wherever and whenever, because who knows who will call next, or fall apart next, or need a shoulder to wimper coldly upon next. I need to call, and fall apart, and wimper coldly many many nights, so I can understand on a deep, compassionate level how inadequate yet how welcome another presence can be. And I refuse to not be there for these people, these people that I love and admire with all of my young, young, terribly young heart.

So when you called today, and I was so tired that it hurt to the root of my toes, and I knew that simple English speech was far beyond me, and even the ringing of my cell phone wasn't really making sense...well. You can see why I didn't answer. But I'm still not sure why you got so angry. Dude, you barely know me. I know: That's not a good response. But consider it, at least for a moment, maybe instead of lecturing me on decency. You already have my apology sitting at your feet.

Something came up. Something big. You need to respect that; and realize that not everyone is out to disappoint you. You're cool; it's why I was looking forward to hanging out. Believe in that coolness. Go on -- take it, and go do something with it. Like maybe forgive me.

Or not, your call. But I'm still awesome, no matter how you feel about me.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

The Livin' Is Easy...On My Rare Days Off

I'm sorry if you've tried calling me and it seems like I'm never there. I promise that I've noted the call, and I WILL get back to you.

I'm just...busy.

Although it probably doesn't seem that way when I'm meandering down the aisles of Wal-Mart at one in the morning, lamenting the fact that they are out of their croissants, and boy howdy am I craving croissants, and WHY ARE THERE NO CROISSANTS!!?!


But I bought Art a replacement mug for the one I broke while I was washing the dishes and he came in wearing my t-shirt and the surprise kinda jarred me and made me knock it out of my grasp into the hard sink where it cracked in half and then shattered. I felt really bad about that one. Now all I need to do is buy him a replacement mouse for the one I exploded. Hehe.

I guess now would be a good time to call. It's late in the evening, and it's just me and Mike chilling. He walked through the room and said "Good morning, sunshine" to me a few minutes ago, then came back and turned on the lights so we wouldn't ruin our eyesight with our tapping away at our respective keyboards. I'd recently woken from a multi-hour nap. So yeah, not a whole lot going on - but I'm enjoying the quiet.

Oh, and Dad: Happy Father's Day. I almost wished it at Mom, then realized it was her voice, not yours. I know how much you'll make fun of me for that, and love making fun of me, so have at it.

Friday, June 16, 2006

They'll Never Hurt You Like I Do

Example #317b of our messed-up relationship:

He refused to eat until I told him what was wrong. As in, what was deeply, darkly, hiddenly, psychiatrically wrong. And he refused to eat any food, until I bore that part of my soul.

And now every time he looks at me, I know that he knows; that he forced a confession from me, and he left me alone with it - because we certainly have no future. He pries intimacies from me and collects them like pearls to string about his neck; maybe; but I don't know what else he'd be doing with them.

A normal person would offer stability and hope and - plans. But I don't think a normal person would refuse to eat for a secret, either.

Sigh. Too bad I go for crazy.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Meet Me At My Window

So, I snagged myself a copy of the latest Jack's Mannequin's song tonight, and I listened to it in the silence of my unshared bedroom. And I have to say...I dunno how I feel about it. My first impression is that Andrew sold out, and that I hate the sound, but I'm hoping that I just need a few more listens before I love it. Maybe? Hopefully. And maybe I never will love it. After all, no amount of listening can make me like "Lonely For Her," so no need to panic, right?

Except I have this feeling that now that their songs are being played on the radio and being TRL'ed and Fude'd and music list-ed all over the place, they've gotten too inflated with self-importance. When an artist starts taking himself too seriously, then he starts, well, sucking. I don't even think that Oscar Wilde, with his grandiose sense of self, took himself too seriously (not even with the "The only thing I have to declare is my genius" comment). And even if he did? Hello, he's Oscar-frickin'-Wilde, not too many people out there can claim that.

I just hate when a good thing goes sour because an ego gets in the way.

I'm looking at you, M. Night. Your next movie better not blow it, because I have a terribly high opinion of you right now.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

I Can Gank Pictures Like Nobody's Business

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came ;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.
It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ;
The helmsman steered us through !

My parents went to Hawaii a few weeks ago. Without me. Just the two of them. I told them that to punish them, I would get married secretly while they were gone and not drop the news until a few months down the road. So now everyone will just have to wonder....

Anyway, the picture above is one they took on one of their tour things, and I ganked it from the website my mom uploaded them to. That's a real live albatross, and the moment I saw it, the literature nerd within had to go re-read Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

Oh, and just so you know what I've been up to, here's a snapshot of the last 24 hours of my life:

- Got yelled at by a woman (driving a $100,000 vehicle, I might add) for "overcharging" her

- Continued building my vast following by making the best subs on the face of this earth, or at least that's what people tell me (and the tips I get don't lie)

- Ate five cookies for dinner; felt sick

- Remembered I have fish now, and I have to be a responsible pet owner and feed them (pictures of the fishies to come)

- Went to Wal-Mart at 4:30 a.m. to buy filters, frozen burritos, milk, and frozen pizzas; saw lots of cops "talking" to someone in the parking lot; his car was there when we came back out of the store, but the guy wasn't

- Watched the sun rise on the way home and had the following conversation -
"It's so light over there. That's gotta be the sun. Right?"
"I dunno, the moon was so, so huge tonight, remember? How it was full, and bloodred, and creepy?"
"Wait, what time is it?"
"A little after 5"
"Yeah, it's the sun"
- Slept (a little)

- Scrubbed years' worth of accumulated, caked-on charcoal from the burners on my stove

- Skipped work

- Went running with a guy

- Washed a car

And now I'm here - back to my beloved internet.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

A Title Just For Craig

I was going to write, "It's 5 a.m. and I'm eating a fudgsicle" and then include some kind of vague, important, lyrical line about the summertime.

I was going to, but the last number I read on the clock was 4:54.

And the next one I read was 7:18.

So no fudgsicles at 5 a.m. while watching The Practice. But! It's still summertime.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

I fell asleep on the floor?

That question mark is to show that, a. I don't really know if I actually fell asleep there, or if I just transferred there somehow while sleeping, but I definitely woke up there, and b. I have no idea what I was doing on the floor.

And now my back is achingly tight. That's a lesson for you all.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

It's Not That I Don't Know How To Cook

I have just encountered a very serious problem. I cannot microwave.

Not as in, it's too hard, or all my arms and legs are broken; that would be silly. As in, I went to microwave something just now, and discovered that the microwave was off. Further investigation concluded that it was off because it was not plugged in. Even further, extensive, painstaking investigation showed that it was not plugged in because the microwave has a three-prong plug and the outlet only fits two prongs. The ancient toaster oven can be plugged in, but not the terribly necessary microwave.

Except it worked before, when I went to microwave stuff. I have no idea; really I don't. Maybe a roommate had an adapter and took it with her when she left? Maybe it functions on magic and has decided to take the weekend off? Who knows.

The only thing I do know is that I had to resort to dumping my little micrwaveable container of Chef Boyardee spaghetti & meatballs into a saucepan and heat it on the stove. On the stove! That's ridiculous. I didn't buy these things so I could get all Martha Stewart; I bought them so I could throw something in the microwave real quick on those days I happen to actually be in my apartment and get a little craving for something. Most of my food isn't even here, and I resent having to cook something that was never meant to be cooked.