That's not a reference to what I think it is, is it?
I feel a tremendous urge to update this bleak, vast wasteland that is my journal. Be when one gets right down to it, what is there to talk about? I'm not on some whirlwind adventure in the tropics of Central America. I'm not discovering or rediscovering an affinity towards some higher power. I'm not in some brand new topsy-turvy romance with a big brave brick of meat. I'm not stopping an evil cult from ressurrecting a dangerous race of beings in Southern Alberta. I'm not stuck in some computer with a fat man who smells pancakes. I'm not throwing a baby shower. I'm not tarring a driveway. I'm not killing a man with a cardboard box. I'm not hopping form lilly pad to lilly pad in a desperate attempt to cross the river. I'm just... being. Sometimes that's enough. And sometimes not so much.
My last entry was in "little bitch" mode. I apologize for that. It was wrong, and will be the first to admit it. It won't happen again, if I can help it. If, however, you are indeed interested in a more whinier time of my journal blog life (whinier? you think i'd have to work at that), feel free to visit the entries in my livejournal from 2003 or 2004. I certainly was a mopey little bitch.
The semester is winding down. The classes are firing all cylindars in a last-ditch effort to destroy all joy and hope in the lives of all students everywhere. We just got our test questions for our Theatre History final, meaning I've actually got to do some real "learning" in that subject area. Reading the plays assigned, and the like. I have a problem with Anthropology. You see, I get up early to go to Theatre History. I don't go to bed early because I'm usually doing idiotic stuff like talking to you helpless lot or posting on some lonely message board; perhaps getting in some Team Fortress Classic or Chibi Robo, meaning staying awake anywhere but Speech class is a true challenge (Phil Hubbard is worth staying up for. That man is a darling.) Now, the Theatre History room is small. If I were to zonk out right there, I'd probably be caught straight away (actually, who knows... she rarely looks up from her droning...) I usually force myself awake through that class. This means that when we get to Anthropology's big lecture hall, where I sit in the back, getting a bit of eye rest is an easy feat. However, this kind of ruins my ability to successfully pass the tests... a conundrum to be sure. I suppose I could try to get more sleep... but that just does not compute.
Anyway, about the end of semester. Audition is boiling down to private sessions with Bob (not in the least bit annoying or uncomfortable, heavens no) and cold reading practice. However, he is picking six of our pieces for the showcase... and I'm almost certain I'm gonna get picked, and it's probably gonna be the only one I really don't want to do. Not that it's bad or anything... but you know me. I'd much rather do comedy than drama anyday. And playing a nervous Jew in a line to speak to German officials in Nazi-occupied France doesn't sound too funny, does it? Finally, in Scenic Design, we've got to make a 3D model of a set for Oedipus Rex, but in a new interpretation. Basically anything but Greek palace with columns and delicate frescas. Which is a word I might have just made up. I'm thinking Oz. Or something with pirates. No, a POW camp. No, a computer! Yeah, inside the computer! No, Canada! No... damn, I've got nothing.
This, my friends, is for Stella. She brought a big, brave brick of meat to a show the other night, and darn it all, most of us just couldn't resist ripping that guy a new one. I felt he needed a nickname or two. Or 42. That's always a good number, you know.
Slab Bulkhead, Bridge Largemeat, Punt Speedchunk, Butch Deadlift, Hold Bigflank, Splint Chesthair, Flint Ironstag, Bolt Vanderhuge, Thick McRunfast, Blast Hardcheese, Buff Drinklots, Crunch Slamchest, Fist Rockbone, Stump Beefnaught, Smash Slamjaw, Punch Rockgroin, Buck Plankchest, Spank Manmeat, Dirk Hardpeck, Rip Steakface, Slate Slabrock, Crud Bonemeal, Brick Hardmeat, Rip Slagcheek, Punch Sideiron, Gristle McThornbody, Slate Fistcrunch, Buff Hardback, Blast Thickneck, Crunch Buttsteak, Slab Squatthrust, Lump Beefbroth, Touch Rustrod, Beef Blastbody, Big McLargehuge, Smoke Manmuscle, Beat Punchmeat, Hack Blowfist, Roll Fizzlebeef, Raw Behemoth.
What a workout. Hey, they're better names than Zapp Rowsdower or Aram Fingal.
For those of you that frequent Penny-Arcade (and if you've been reading my inane ramblings about the inner workings of my brain and what I think about cereal marketing for a while, you damn well better), you know that they now do podcasts. They basically record their brainstorm process. The one that brought about this particular comic, entitled "Doctor Feelgood," was particularly hilarious. Just the fact that this study was done that linked violent videogames with a permissible attitude towards drinking and doing drugs in 18-21 year olds... does that sound a bit redundant to anyone else? Here's what the PA duo figured was the systematic process for aqcuiring such data:
I miss my best friend, now more than when he was half a world away. Get a phone, ya dope!
END OF LINE
My last entry was in "little bitch" mode. I apologize for that. It was wrong, and will be the first to admit it. It won't happen again, if I can help it. If, however, you are indeed interested in a more whinier time of my journal blog life (whinier? you think i'd have to work at that), feel free to visit the entries in my livejournal from 2003 or 2004. I certainly was a mopey little bitch.
The semester is winding down. The classes are firing all cylindars in a last-ditch effort to destroy all joy and hope in the lives of all students everywhere. We just got our test questions for our Theatre History final, meaning I've actually got to do some real "learning" in that subject area. Reading the plays assigned, and the like. I have a problem with Anthropology. You see, I get up early to go to Theatre History. I don't go to bed early because I'm usually doing idiotic stuff like talking to you helpless lot or posting on some lonely message board; perhaps getting in some Team Fortress Classic or Chibi Robo, meaning staying awake anywhere but Speech class is a true challenge (Phil Hubbard is worth staying up for. That man is a darling.) Now, the Theatre History room is small. If I were to zonk out right there, I'd probably be caught straight away (actually, who knows... she rarely looks up from her droning...) I usually force myself awake through that class. This means that when we get to Anthropology's big lecture hall, where I sit in the back, getting a bit of eye rest is an easy feat. However, this kind of ruins my ability to successfully pass the tests... a conundrum to be sure. I suppose I could try to get more sleep... but that just does not compute.
Anyway, about the end of semester. Audition is boiling down to private sessions with Bob (not in the least bit annoying or uncomfortable, heavens no) and cold reading practice. However, he is picking six of our pieces for the showcase... and I'm almost certain I'm gonna get picked, and it's probably gonna be the only one I really don't want to do. Not that it's bad or anything... but you know me. I'd much rather do comedy than drama anyday. And playing a nervous Jew in a line to speak to German officials in Nazi-occupied France doesn't sound too funny, does it? Finally, in Scenic Design, we've got to make a 3D model of a set for Oedipus Rex, but in a new interpretation. Basically anything but Greek palace with columns and delicate frescas. Which is a word I might have just made up. I'm thinking Oz. Or something with pirates. No, a POW camp. No, a computer! Yeah, inside the computer! No, Canada! No... damn, I've got nothing.
This, my friends, is for Stella. She brought a big, brave brick of meat to a show the other night, and darn it all, most of us just couldn't resist ripping that guy a new one. I felt he needed a nickname or two. Or 42. That's always a good number, you know.
Slab Bulkhead, Bridge Largemeat, Punt Speedchunk, Butch Deadlift, Hold Bigflank, Splint Chesthair, Flint Ironstag, Bolt Vanderhuge, Thick McRunfast, Blast Hardcheese, Buff Drinklots, Crunch Slamchest, Fist Rockbone, Stump Beefnaught, Smash Slamjaw, Punch Rockgroin, Buck Plankchest, Spank Manmeat, Dirk Hardpeck, Rip Steakface, Slate Slabrock, Crud Bonemeal, Brick Hardmeat, Rip Slagcheek, Punch Sideiron, Gristle McThornbody, Slate Fistcrunch, Buff Hardback, Blast Thickneck, Crunch Buttsteak, Slab Squatthrust, Lump Beefbroth, Touch Rustrod, Beef Blastbody, Big McLargehuge, Smoke Manmuscle, Beat Punchmeat, Hack Blowfist, Roll Fizzlebeef, Raw Behemoth.
What a workout. Hey, they're better names than Zapp Rowsdower or Aram Fingal.
For those of you that frequent Penny-Arcade (and if you've been reading my inane ramblings about the inner workings of my brain and what I think about cereal marketing for a while, you damn well better), you know that they now do podcasts. They basically record their brainstorm process. The one that brought about this particular comic, entitled "Doctor Feelgood," was particularly hilarious. Just the fact that this study was done that linked violent videogames with a permissible attitude towards drinking and doing drugs in 18-21 year olds... does that sound a bit redundant to anyone else? Here's what the PA duo figured was the systematic process for aqcuiring such data:
I miss my best friend, now more than when he was half a world away. Get a phone, ya dope!
END OF LINE