black cadillacs
12.12.04 @ 12:19 a.m.
QUESTION: Should I buy a ticket to go see Modest Mouse at the McDonald theater in January? I'm going to be downtown tomorrow, I think I'll probably stop by the box office and get one if they aren't sold out. The only bad aspect is that I don't know anyone who would want to go with me. Enngh, I don't know. I guess I should send a mass email to my friends first.
SNL is only half over (well, more than half, Weekend Update is on), so there's still time for him to screw it up, but I am so lusting after Colin Farrell. I think it's the long hair, because I was just looking at IMDb to see if I was spelling his last name right (I was not) and I don't care for the headshot there.
I may well be inclined toward him because of the recent surge in pride I have in the Irish side of my heritage. He opened up his monologue and I was mimicking the accent. I'm not fantastic at the Irish accent, sadly. I'm feeling a lot of yearning to go back and visit again. I would really, really love to go to Europe and see more than just Galway and the southwest Irish coast. I want to see England and the continent, too.
Yeah, it's definitely the hair (accenting the rest).
Aaaaanyway. I'm thinking I should finish the NaNovel since I only outlined the end. Maybe it's from spending about four hours today reading Georgette Heyer. I wrote a short section of Sea and Sand, too, and am thinking of finishing this draft so I can write a final version of I Can't Reach You (if I could figure out where the damn thing is supposed to end--This is my eternal problem with stories like this. They stall out in the middle).
I rented another disc of In Living Color Season Two. Yay! So far there's been a Homey the Clown sketch, an Antoine sketch, and a Vera Di Milo, but no Fire Marshall Bill yet. I think that this disc has one, though. I was really young when it was on and when my brother and sister went through the whole early 90s black culture movement that came with the growth of rap. You can see it in In Living Color and in early episodes of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It's kind of funny that Jim Carrey was the token white guy in the cast and became the biggest star. I have mad love for Damon Wayans, though, as the one who most reminds me of my brother. (There is a similar sense of humor there, I think.)
(OMG, Steve the Skeeve! These seemingly random interjections only happen when I'm watching TV while I write, I'm sorry. Also, I'm pretty sure you cannot say "shit" on network TV, but that does not stop Colin from ending the show with "I shit you not.")
I got all paranoid about one of my classes because my teacher sent me an email about a missing paper. Yes. I know. I didn't do, like, the second paper. There's a whole complicated thing that explains why you think I didn't do the second to last paper, and guess what? I do not care what my fucking grade is so long as I don't have to retake the class. I'm trying to refuse to feel bad or paranoid about it, but that's really hard for me to do. I don't know if people realize how badly I'm plagued by memories of past embarassments, which is probably the reason for my intense shyness. I just cannot get over things. I still can't look at this little ceramic dog my dad had to buy because I knocked it over and chipped it when I was... uh, it was long time ago. There are many more, but I don't want to rehash them because I'll keep feeling bad.
It's a hateful, stupid cycle and I would probably benefit from therapy so I would not be constantly afraid of everyone forever and ever. I am beginning to suspect that it's the fear of forging new horrible, plaguing memories that keeps me away from people. I'll say something asinine and will never be able to look at them again. If the Who Boy did not make my heart skip a beat, I would be more aware of my brain going "HURR HE MUST THINK YOU ARE SUCH A MORON, REMEMBER HOW YOU BABBLED ABOUT TOWNSHEND AT HIM? AND TOMMY? GOD, YOU ARE SO STUPID AND ANNOYING. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY HE MIGHT REMEMBER YOU, BECAUSE YOU ARE STUPID, BECAUSE IF YOU ARE NOT STUPID YOU ARE UNMEMORABLE." My brain talks in all capitals. It needs to get the point across.
In non-self-recriminations, I got almost all of my books up and shelved last night. It felt surprisingly good, and while I cannot figure out how it's possibly, my room doesn't feel as cramped and crowded. I really don't get it, because all the boxes the books were in are still there, because most of them have other crap in them, too. I enjoy small scale organizing but cannot clean up after myself. It's a puzzle.
(I don't know if it's NaNo habits or the odd diction of Dumbrella, but I tend to cut out all my contractions when I type nowadays. It's weird, and I'm having to make a conscious effort to do it now.)
Everyone needs to read Sunday's Get Fuzzy at www.comics.com.
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
