oh sweet nothing
11.18.02 @ 12:48 a.m.
For the most part, I didn't really go for all the unity stuff after 9/11, all the tributes and concerts and tribute songs. I don't want to hear how America's gonna put a boot in your ass for screwing with us, or how we shall all heal from this terrible terrible pain sloooowly but together.
But damnit, I like Macca's song, "Freedom." I can't help myself.
I don't give it much thought, but today I was copying the Royal Tenenbaums soundtrack and Driving Rain to my iTunes so I could add some of their songs to my "Writing Music" playlist, which is mostly things that are slow, soothing, etc. Lots of early Nesmith. Lots of Beatles. Several things, oddly enough, off the Rushmore soundtrack which was supposed to be such an angry young man thing. Some things off the High Fidelity soundtrack (I'm really getting into soundtracks. To think that I normally think of myself as not liking them. Ha.) Now that I look at it, Royal Tenenbaums is dominating the list. But then, before I started this little compilation of soothing (sort of) songs to write to, I listened to TRT a lot. It's a really excellent CD.
I watched the movie Ghost World finally this weekend with my parents. My dad and I drew a few parallels between Enid and myself, which disturbed my mom (and me a little) because she really did not like Enid. I'm... an introverted and pathologically nice version. I'm more like Rebecca I suspect. Anyway. It was most the the sardonic nature and interest in weird, kitschy things that made her seem like me. I noticed that the way Enid and Rebecca talk is like a really really extreme version of Martha and I sometimes. Like how we make little comments on Peter Tork being so popular Jesus is his bass player (in our defense, the guy totally had Jesus hair) and how 'Danny Bonaduce' sat in front of us at the Tommy James concert and asked me a bunch of questions about my 2002 Monkees tour shirt. Hah. That was pretty funny, actually. We also probably pissed off a few patrons of the Evergreen Parkway 13 by making the occasional snide comment (not even that, sometimes just a plain ol' comment on One Hour Photo.
It's kind of nice listening to Nesmith. I haven't done it in a while. I'm listening to "Continuing" which is off Pretty Much Your Standard Ranch Stash, an excellent album. I wonder if I've gotten any mail over the weekend. I'm expecting a) a NaNoWriMo shirt, it better hurry up and get here, goddamnit, b) a CD of Austen-era piano music such as young ladies would play for an evening's entertainment and a CD of popular early 19th century music from Amazon and c) a copy of Civ 3 I bought off eBay but mustn't allow myself to play until the end of November. It's my NaNoWriMo reward. God, I hope I can finish. I'm getting there. I've got over 23 thousand. I should be working on it now, but ah, the lure of diaryland is insidious.
That reminds me, I had this dream on Nov. 13th and wrote it down in my sticky notes program: "Nezjr and his former bandmate, the big guy that reminds me of the lead singer of Smashmouth, were giving a presentation and I was supposed to evaluate it, presumably with E* but she wasn't there. Nezjr's partner was singing up on the stage and Nezjr and I were just chatting and hanging out, which was extrememly fun and he was being a little bit flirty. Woo." I feel so high school when I call him by his codename. Silly girl. I maintain that he is Mike Nesmith's Mediterranean Love Child. Nezjr is just conveniently shorter.
I'd also like to include this scene from Blackadder: Back and Forth, AKA Blackadder V:
Blackadder (Rowan Atkinson): Oh, and just one more thing...
Shakespeare (Colin Firth(!)): Yes?
B:*punch*
That is for every schoolboy and schoolgirl for the next four hundred years. Do you have any idea how much suffering you're going to cause? Hours spent at school desk trying to find one joke in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Years wearing stupid tights in school plays and saying things like "What ho, my Lord," and "Oh, look, here comes Othello, talking total crap as usual."
*kicks him while he's down*
Oh, and..
S:Ow!
B:And that is for Ken Branagh's endless uncut four hour version of Hamlet.
S: Who's Ken Branagh?
B: I'll tell him you said that, and I think he'll be very hurt.
My god, do I love Edmund Blackadder. Brilliant, bloody brilliant. I would buy the box set in an instant if I had the money. They have a DVD box set, but it costs about $90 at Amazon used. I can get a new or used VHS box set for about $60 which is still a lot and my parents keep pointedly saying to me that they're broke, so it looks like I'm probably out of luck. I think I shall check them out from the library over winter break.
I'm so unhappy that I was unable to see Harry Potter this weekend. Doesn't that suck? I'll probably go Tuesday afternoon. If I go tomorrow (technically today, but as far as my head is concerned it'll be tomorrow) I'll be worried about getting to Shakespeare on time. Plus I still have a fucking ton of Coriolanus to read. I read the longest act on the bus today and marked animal/hunting references because I noticed they kept recurring, plus some food/mouth/belly things. Ugh, and Coriolanus' wife, Virgilia, man, she drives me nuts. So far she's turning out to be a Fanny Price-style doormat and I think I've probably ranted about how much I hate Fanny Price before. She's the main character in Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. Gaaah. Grow a fucking backbone, Fanny. Jesus. I've only read it once but everytime I think of her I want to give her a good slap.
Another this weekend thing: I'm still taking secret, passive-agressive delight in having decided that if Dad insists that the enneagram personality types apply to me, then he's totally wrong in his assessment of my number. He keeps pushing that he's a nine and by golly, so am I. I am totally not. I was reading this Enneagram Made Easy book he left lying around and I'm so a five. Ha. What really gets me is that this book stresses that people need to decide what number they are FOR THEMSELVES, not to TYPE SOMEONE ELSE, and not to LET ANYONE TELL YOU WHAT TYPE YOU ARE. Take that! Ha! Seriously, though, based on the profiles in this book I fit five pretty well. I'm introverted, I get obsessively knowledgable on things, I don't like other people much, and I feel like I feel things more strongly when I'm alone. I can't even remember why, but this morning I was cracking myself up in the shower. I'm such a doofus. I laugh all the time when I'm alone. Everything amuses the hell out of me. Still, I don't much believe in personality types, I just like to think that my dad is wrong in pushing this on me. I like that very few people (if anyone at all) know the real me. You'd think I'd be upset with everyone having a misconception, but I'm not. I think I rather like being different and keeping certain things just for me.
Blah blah blah, right? It's getting to be 1:30 and I'm not going to be able to get up if I don't go to bed soon, which means no writing tonight, I suppose. But I could always nap tomorrow. Nothing important tomorrow except Shakespeare which is ALWAYS important! *stupid grin*
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
