I think it ruined my weekend. Not like I curled up in a ball and cried all weekend but I just felt kinda numb and empty. And I even liked the ending, I mean, I WOULD LIKE MORE, I didn’t love it, but it could have been a million times worse.
And here I am at school and I got up early this morning and finished my drawings and I’m not doing all the responsible things I should be doing, but things are getting done, and I’m just kind of in this state of being… stuck.
Also I started watching Boardwalk Empire last night which is a good show, but I can’t watch it right now because I forgot my headphones! :C
Just watched it, very very good. I was actually impressed by the CGI (for once), the Uncanny Valley effect was extremely minimal (mostly Bright Eyes and baby Caesar), although to be fair I was watching a crappy flv file on a laptop, so I really can’t compare that against, say, seeing Avatar in the theaters (which I hated, bee tee dubs).
The story is very good. Although sometimes I think the references to the original were a bit heavy-handed, and it seemed like it could have used a few more little background things (like in the original tribunal when you get See No Evil-Hear No Evil-Speak No Evil).
BUT, overall very recommended science fiction. The only implausible part (SPOILER ALERT) to me, it being science fiction, is that you’ve been monitoring and altering the biology of apes for five years in plexiglass cages and you didn’t fucking know she was pregnant? What the hell.
Also, I noticed it seemed to be pretty male-heavy cast, which is awkward considering in the original they literally fridge-scene the female the moment the ship lands and then the black guy gets fucking taxidermied (granted, it was 1968, but obviously not a great view on minorities of any type [which given the plot of the original I find somewhat ironic]). Was Maurice female? Did I miss out on Cornelia having a bigger role than I thought? Or is it just me? Kinda side-eyeing that…
But OTHERWISE… great entertaining movie. And I kinda feel like if you watched Contagion right after… nightmare fuel maybe. DYSTOPIAS FOR ALL
Well, Douchebag is still unknown to have done any dishes. HOWEVER, if he makes a mess again this weekend I’m going to speak to Other Girl and then post a much less friendly note along the lines of “seriously, we ALL have to use these dishes, clean them up after a day or so.” And if nothing happens, ~yay~, I get to take it up with the fucking landlord. Not that the landlady is not awesome, but that I really don’t want to have to start shit. I have to live here for three more months still, at least, I don’t need it to be a hostile warzone.
BUT! Other than my completely broken-heartedness over Chuck ending, I’m mostly frustrated that I can’t do anything with my room. I can’t paint the walls, they are barrenly white. I can’t paint the furniture, it’s not mine. I can’t go out shopping for awesome stuff because one, I am poor, and two, my choice is bicycle or bus.
I also really want to theme a room around space-travel, since I’ve been in such a Firefly/Hitchhiker’s Guide mood, which is also a challenge. I’m saving up cardboard to maybe make some “wall panel”-type things or maybe even some furniture-type stuff, because I need to do something.
If you have any ideas… please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, tell me, right now I literally just have piles of crap around to distract from the empty, blank, soul-crushingness of this room.
I just watched both episodes (years later after the site decided to finally load them). It was so, so so so perfect. I hate the stories where everyone just ends up Happily Paired Up With Babies. This is a story about nerds and spies. Well, and their families, but still. I think they wrapped it up so well, and the tribute to the Wienerlicious and everything was adorably perfect, and JEFFSTER and the cowboys and just. so. amazing.
I’m going to miss this show, and it didn’t really hit me before, or I didn’t want it to. I don’t know why, exactly. I think I just really loved the story, and the nerdiness of it, and the fans are great (omg the Subway takeover), and the cast is great, and pretty much everything about it, forever.
Maybe I just really want to cry, I’m okay with that. Happy tears, you know? I watched all of Firefly last week, and it occurred to me today that we were lucky to get five seasons. Pushing Daisies didn’t last that long, and that’s the first show I ever watched from the start that I saw end, and it was beautiful, but the ending was too forced, and that’s okay because it was still great. But Firefly didn’t even get much of a chance, and they did get Serenity, but would a two hour movie stand up against four full seasons? I don’t even know if a two hour movie would stand up against a two hour show finale. I don’t know where they would have taken the show, I mean, pretty much everybody’s had the Intersect by now, we’ve had so many rings of villains and set-ups and take-downs and people getting involved you didn’t think would ever show up, and I think some of the perfection lies in that.
It’s like the James Bond series— you keep upping the ante and eventually you get Moonraker. Not that Moonraker was bad, it’s just… yeah.
I don’t know. I love it. I’ve loved it since my friend first sat me down for the first episode, and I watched the whole first season and bought the dvd.
I really can’t articulate what I’m feeling right now. But Jeffster with the classical accompaniment is pretty much the crux of the emotional issue, if speaking in musical feelings will get you anywhere.
(I put my Nerd Machine shirt back on today, it’s the closest thing I’ve got to Nerd Herd gear. I need to get some now, though, before I lose my chance.)
I think this show was something important. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m going to miss everything about it.
Use fake email services such as mailinator dot com
Download the AnonPackage for a suite of tools and extras!
Anyone have opinions on these? Critiques? Reccommendations?
I don’t know about the other two anonymizers, but Tor I believe was started (and continues) to support other countries who have a lot of blocked information, like China. You can choose to use some of your bandwidth to host addresses that people can use (through employing Tor), or you can also just download it and use it as an anonymizer yourself. AFAIK it works with everything except torrenting because of how they do data. There’s a lot more information on their site if you’re curious, but I’ve seen them around for several years now and I haven’t heard anything bad, except for a few concerns about running Tor off phones and things (makes it easier to accidentally download malware and then all your personal information is accessible).
Lately I’ve been really into weird concepts of something like failed, desperate, self-conscious deliberate performative femininity? Part of this is evidenced by the fact that I’ve been doing my hair in big curls with my kinda-crappy-blonde-dye-job and wearing a ridiculous faux-leopard coat with ripped tights and messy eyeliner, and part of it comes together more in at least 47 different e-mail conversations about books and movies with “unrepentantly fucked up” lady characters that I’ve been having with at least 5 different people of late. Some of these ideas have been written very eloquently by other folks already, and some of it is obvious and some of it is still vague, and all of it is definitely not “complete,” so, like, go at it in the comments, y’all, I wanna know what you’re thinking.
It begins, I think, with my ongoing frustration that when we are presented with male characters (or personas, or even real persons) who are basically bad people with one redeeming quality (still sleeps with a teddy bear, is a brilliant filmmaker) we let that one redeeming quality, you know, redeem them, and are collectively charmed by their fucked-up-ness. But I have a really hard time coming up with similar female examples: all of the ones I can think of we have opted to either lambast or concern-troll instead. And we always need to redeem them. They always need to learn something or be rescued, which we all know is basically the opposite of how the world really works. Kids, I am a hot mess, and almost all of the women I admire and love and am fascinated by are also hot fucking messes, and I so rarely see that represented in a real, nuanced, and fascinating way. To simplify: I am eternally tearing my hair out over the fact that I desperately want more female antiheroes. In books, film, pop culture personas, whatever. And I’ve been seeing this idea come up again and again lately.
I feel the need to clarify that this isn’t like the “It’s okay if you don’t text him back right away” pages of ladymags, because it’s not that kind of screwing up. Nor is it the Manic Pixie Dream Girl either — look, guys, maybe Zooey Deschanel has shiny bangs, but I’d rather hang out with or read a book about Courtney Love any day, who is more of like a Manic Troll Nightmare Beast than anything else. I actually sort of want to see it as an inverse of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, though I know my character I’m describing here is also easily reduced to male fantasy. But I want to insist that it doesn’t have to be, and that she shouldn’t be, which is half the point, that the drunk sloppy girl in the corner is definitely not any more broken than anybody else and definitely not there to be taken advantage of. She’s a failure of male fantasy, and she knows it, and more than that, she flaunts it, because the point wasn’t the goddamned boys to begin with.
The kind of ladies I’m talking about are flawed, but not damsels in distress in any way. So I am totally cool with being a Manic Troll Nightmare Beast, because in my experience, that is basically just a symptom of “the human condition.” I am totally cool with being a human, and I am totally cool with other women who are okay with being humans and not gentle ladies, too. And humans are a lot more interesting.
There are problematic interpretations of it, too — a lot of it verges on nauseating, hackneyed and racist “Carefree White Girl” style fantasy, and it’s easy to slip into tropes of “glamorizing drug use and prostitution” or whatnot. (I’m already anticipating 3-7 comments criticizing me with that straw man, it’s cool, y’all.) I also keep wanting to describe things as “trashy,” because please, kids, I am from New Jersey, lord knows I love trash, but I know that is often read as both classist and misogynist. There’s also another frustrating version of this which involves things that have always felt like myself — you know, the messy girl who has made a ton of mistakes and isn’t quite pretty and is a little bit sad and a little bit nuts and lives a little bit too hard sometimes, but keeps it together — being recycled and spat back at me in a distorted and fetishized way. (Do we want to talk about my disgust for Sasha in A Visit From The Goon Squad? Like that.) But I am still going to be a sucker for anything even verging on this image of the screwed-up girl who’s getting it half-right but doesn’t give a damn if it’s also half-wrong because she’s trying and because she’s having fun. I am still going to want more of it, because there isn’t enough of it.
On a more personal note, in some ways I think this a weird core of my own “identity” or whatever, if we want to talk about those things. When you are coming out it sometimes takes years to bridge the gap between “I like girls” and “Wait, I don’t actually have to date him, I don’t owe him that. Wow! I don’t haveto!” and then suddenly you exist in this entirely new bizarre world where every page of every ladies’ magazine doesn’t apply to you at all and you feel so much better about a ton of things because you have given yourself permission to not worry about men anymore. Or at least that’s how it worked for me. What I am saying is that frankly I feel like I spent an awful lot of my life trying real hard to be straightand getting real sad when it didn’t work the way it was supposed to, and I basically feel the same way about Doing Ladylike Shit. And I’m having a ball with it, and I really dig seeing that in other places, too.
BUT. Back to the point. We know that girls aren’t supposed to go out and get drunk and let their makeup get messed up and screw the wrong people and show up late and swear and have breakdowns and get pissed off and make noise and take up space and have delusions of grandeur and mood swings and panic attacks. We are supposed to contain all that: we are supposed to contain our messy, loud, crazy bodies and estrogen-addled minds and comb our hair and iron a dress and show up with a smile, at risk of becoming a broken, dirty woman – the demimonde, the floozy, the washed-up starlet, the old maid – if we do not.
I am not into that. I will lose my mind if I do that, and probably half of my existing crazy is from trying to do that anyhow, and I am eternally charmed by the evidence of other ladies who feel the same way. I would so much rather see someone else screwing it all up than someone doing it right or being saved. And I admit that I still am trying to convince myself — this blog post is evidence of that, for sure — that it is okay for me to be a hot mess like that, that it is okay for me to be a real human too.
And I have felt that as of late, too. I wear what’s comfortable (although tbh I’ve gotten a lot of comments these past few weeks for my awesome t-shirt collection— I can live with that). If I want to dress up in a ball gown it’s because my inner art historian is really into 17th century dresses at the moment, or my modern art side has been eyeing too much Gaga lately (if that’s possible). (I mean, that was even kind of a theme of her new album cover! And I really don’t get why so many people dislike her “strangeness”. Oh GOD it’s DIFFERENT I don’t think we should maybe find it interesting I think instead FEAR IT yes that’s obviously the best reaction. But I digress.)
I admit that lately I’ve been a bit tired of my hair and general frumpiness, but at the same time, I can’t be damned to give enough of a fuck to put in much effort. Fuck if a 20-minute shower is going to turn into an hour and a half of hair and makeup, that’s time I could be reading or something.
Sometimes I stop and think about my love of stage musicals and how I used to love to tell jokes and put on one-man shows. And thanks to elementary school, I now have a rather constricting fear of public speaking. I wish I could find that inner comedian again, and that all the weird faces I make were something I could do more intently instead of just having them happening happenstance.
Fuck public opinion of me, because it smothers me. I’m too concerned with it and I don’t know how to stop giving a fuck. All I can do is pretend to not give a fuck and hope that gets me far enough.
Speaking of which, a few days ago I was remembering Creepy McDouchebag’s comments from earlier this summer, and it got me seething again. I will damn well wear what I please, and I wish smart-ass me didn’t just operate online but in real life, too.
(I think I borked half the links, but that’s what Tumblr gets for not allowing full reposts.)
I get incredibly frustrated by the amount of misinformation on the internet. True story.
Like… emotionally upset. I don’t know if that’s irrational or not. And I’m not very good at handling corrections well, either, so apologies if I ever come off as a stuck-up bitch. I mean, well, I readily admit to being a bitch, haha, but I don’t like to be demeaning if I can help it. It’s just like my very existence resists against factual inaccuracy.
(That being said, call me the fuck out when I’m wrong.)
Not about missing food, oh no. Though I am keeping an eye on the count of my most recent grocery purchases.
Nope, it goes a little something like this:
"Sorry about all the notes :) but we never see eachother around— but please clean up after you cook, we are starting to get bugs again"
Which translates, I hope effectively, to:
"I don’t mean a bitch (I mean these are basic fucking politeness issues) but leaving meat and cheese out for four days to grow mold and an entire host of some type of fly that has now taken over the sink, that’s a bit fucking much, don’t you think?"
I’m hoping they don’t just clean up the current mess but translate that into cleaning up in the future.
It was at Thanksgiving and everything. Just me, my sister, and my dad.
Dad: So, since it’s sort of tradition to confess things over Thanksgiving dinner, I think I ought to let everyone know that I’m…uh, bisexual.
Little sister: What’s that?
Reblogging for Gorgonetta.
And because it reminds me of that metaquotes story back in the day in which a girl came out to her mom, who didn’t look up from washing dishes and said “okay hon, but you still have to clean your room before you can go out tonight.” I always loved that one. <3
Other Girl did all the dishes again. The ones that have been sitting out for a week. The ones that overflowed the sink this weekend and proceeded to entirely cover the TWO full-length counters in the kitchen. The dirty dishes that the Boy Roommates produced.
She’s been pretty friendly though and we’ve seen more of eachother than we have of the guys, so we chat a bit here and there. I told her it wasn’t really fair of her to be doing the dishes but she said she just couldn’t stand it any more, and frankly I don’t blame her, I just find dirty dishes to be this almost-phobic situation for me and I sure as hell wasn’t going to touch them. And I won’t in the future. Except maybe to toss them in the trash.
I don’t know how long this is going to go on, but those guys better 1) start doing their goddamn dishes, and 2) buy her a huge fucking box of candy or something for Valentine’s Day because WE ARE NOT YOUR FUCKING MOTHERS. Jesus christ.
I also had to inform them (via note) that there is something rotting in the fridge but I cannot identify what. Which is entirely true, sadly, but also code for “maybe throw out the fucking rotting food that’s been in the fridge since before you went home for Christmas break, maybe”.
On the other hand, classes are a lot of work, but going splendidly. :D