Last night's episode of Justice League was surprisingly enjoyable. It really surpassed any previous episode. Even though there technically wasn't anything wildly original in the plot . . . It rather firmly held my attention. Perhaps because the animation is not only good but also, unlike it's counterpart X-Men: Evolution, it's very sensitive to how people actually move. Unlike most American animations, this one seems close to that typically exclusively Japanese knack of knowing what to animate and, when you don't have a massive budget, what not to animate.

X-Men: Evolution is a good example of this widespread folly as it is a show with good animation. The problem is that, the characters, when in conversation, or casually walking about, give one the sense--from the unnatural, overwrought gesticulations, and at times, outright bizarre walking frames (witness the Sirens episode and you'll starkly see what I mean)--that the people working on these animations have never actually witnessed a human being in motion.

And it's also true that the writing is a little better on Justice League. The premise of X-Men: Evolution, which attempts to pander to the Britney Spears-ish teen crowd, makes several miscalculations, most notably the absence of the Wolverine/Cyclops/Jean Grey love triangle.

So now I'm hungry . . .

It's definitely blue beach-ball time around here.

I bet you all know what I'm talking about and I bet you all have had the experience of bemusedly shaking your head, sighing with nigh frustrated affection, at the antics of those around you who bring home the blue beach ball that they naturally coinsider tyo be the best thing ever and always (I left my typos in because I liked them).

And what's not to like, really? It's round with a rubbery skin and filled with air. It's bouncible and playful.

Things can get scary though. I once heard of a woman drowning her own children rather than let them be tortured by blue-beach ball Death Collectors.

Of course, that was back in the forties, and to-day blue beach balls are generally deemed something like soma that's okay for kids. Kids even.

Sure, you get the popping accidents now and then. But it's kind of inhuman to deny anyone their basic right to blue beach balls, so whatta you gonna do?

. . . okay.

I'm gonna go for broke.

I'll just say it . . . I DON'T GET IT. WHAT IS SO FRELLING GREAT ABOUT THE BLUE BEACH BALL??!!

Oh! I almost forgot to mention . . . The Pumpkin Smash smoothies at Jamba Juice taste exactly like the vanilla milkshakes at Jack-In-the-Box.


"But answer there came none--And this was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one." -Tweedledee

Okay, so come 7am I did actually sleep, I think. Ha, eat that, gods. Or whoever you are.

Empty coke can still next to my mouse . . . I ended up watching more Star Trek and not being at all productive. It really is amazing how soothing it was to watch Star Trek. I never realised before what a tonic it is.

I'd made these Star Trek tapes a very long time ago . . . High School, childhood. I wonder if this is why Randolph Carter was so interested in pursing his childhood. Maybe if I keep watching my old Star Trek tapes . . . I'll slip out to where the Old Ones are?

I promised Tim I'd help him get a bookshelf to-day. I also need to buy shaving cream and deordant . . . I'm just so exciting, ain't I?

You may have noticed I added a bunch of links to this page. Go visit all of them repeatedly until you're reduced to a feverishly sweating, meaninglessly giggling little baby with bulging, senseless eyes.

I wanna get coffee . . . but first, I will do some crunches.


"Don't believe in yourself, don't deceive with belief, knowledge comes with death's release." -David Bowie

Halloa. I know this feeling. It's the feeling that says, "Hey, guess what? Yer not gonna get a wink of sleep to-night. And what's more, you probably won't be very productive."

What I need is a sedative (he says as he sips his coke).

As sedatives go, Star Trek is amazingly effective. But it's not enough.

Damn it, I swear to the gods that if I can't sleep I shall, damnit shall be productive.

Your soul is bound to the Fifth Totem, Homid:
The Monkey.

Homid appears as a viridian monkey. He embodies
intelligence, potential, understanding, and
skill. He is associated with the color
viridian, the season of spring, and the element
of fire. His downfall is pretentiousness.

You are most compatible with Owls and Tortoises.


Which Animal Spirit Totem Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yesterday I encountered a man praying before his meal at the mall food court, a woman calling her boyfriend a retard in cloying, false anger, and a young woman who yelled vaguely near me at no one in particular about lesbian-haters, lazy communists, and fucking tits.

I also, because I was writing a scene in my novel that I was very happy with, felt more at peace with myself, and stronger, than I have felt in many days.

But right now, I'm angry because apparently I've just narrowly missed Trisa. It's the kind of cursed miss that gets thoroughly under my skin . . . So fucking angry . . . Maybe I'll try calling her from the mall. Maybe somehow the gods will allow me to reach her from there.

Old gum is bad gum. Don't try it.

I found some old Bazooka Joe bubble gum in my coin basket, leftover from when Trisa and I went to a nice 50s restaurant a long time ago. I was gonna throw them away but . . . I had to see the Bazooka Joe comics. And once I'd opened them, naturally I had to chew them. It's something I regret.

Oh, but . . .

Iichiwawa!!

I've been flat broke for the past couple of days but now, thanks to my enormous store of pennies, dimes, and nickels, and my patient coin-rolling, I have thirty-four dollars!! Yes, it is all from loose change.

The biggest yield was the dimes, which alone gave me twenty dollars. I was only able to roll two dollars of pennies as I had only four penny roll sleaves, and four dollars of nickels, as nickels seem to be by far the most scarce coin. I wonder why?

Then I found lots and lotsa quarters, and a single coin dollar. I also found British money, Thai money, and Star Wars action figure collectable coins. Not to mention all the movie stubs I found (Divine Intervention, Russian Ark, Wild At Heart). And oh, yes, the gum . . .

Sometimes I wish I had been born an eye. Just an eye . . . A big, annonymous, sensor. I feel that disinclined to generate output. Well, most output. I did do some writing to-day . . .

I have class on Wednesday and I wish I didn't as I'm currently broke. I don't have money for any gas except what's already in the tank.

Hmm . . . Most of the things on my mind right now are things I don't wanna write about here . . .

Life would be better without plastic. I think.

I think I'll just read right now . . .

??

Yup. I want another coke. But it feels like a bad idea . . . Actually, what I really want is orange juice.

To-morrow I'd like to use for getting lots of things done. But I doubt I shall. I have two appointments (hehe) to-morrow. Well, social calls. But social calls are impoitant, very impoitant (that's how Chiana's brother Nerri says "important").

Okay . . . I'll have another coke. I meant to do so much to-night . . . but a single new page of Doll Merchant was all that I managed.

Can't . . . stop . . . drinking . . . cokes! Can't stop! Huah! I'm on my third can in the last three hours . . . Oh, that's bad.

Maybe I'm just trying to get the taste of the Pepsi Vanilla out of my mouth.

Weeks ago, Tim recomended that I try the Pepsi Vanilla, saying that it had a stronger vanilla taste than the Vanilla Coke. My attempts to purchase the Pepsi Vanilla were thwarted by machines lacking the item and by machines bearing erroneous labels.

But finally; a stroke of luck. I got one.

So intense had my expectations become by this point that I could do nothing but feverishly scream/think "eureka!" as that, indeed, indelibly vanilla-ie stuff dribbled down my gullet, impregnating my eye with madness.

To-day, bearing my bottle of Pepsi Vanilla proudly to the home of my mother, I, in an aloof and mischievious tone, asked of my sister, "Have you tried the Pepsi Vanilla, hmmm?"

"Yes," she said. "It tastes like medicine."

Lightning flashed through my synapses(sp?) and I gasped, very like Inu-Yasha, foiled by Naraku. "It is true!" gasped I. For verily did it taste of cough syrup, and mine eyes and throat and the odd eyes in my throat and those things which feel things in things all viciously did attest to mine brain squegee; YES! IT IS BAD! IT IS PEPSI BLUE ALL OVER AGAIN! BUT WITH BLACK MAGIC!

Just when I thought words could not be emphasised in any other way, things got underlined, and I sunk into the despair of Knowing . . .

Later, I had myself beaten senseless by Lizard Man. Or the Lizard Men, I should say, as there were at least five of the bastards. This was at Tim's house, inside a Game Cube and a television, and I made Tim uncomfortable, and he had to leave the room. It was team battle (this was Soul Calibur 2, by the way, in case you hadn't picked up on it) and I was using Charade, Talim, and Taki against Lizard Man after Lizard Man, and not passing that stage for, as the game clock noted 90 frelling minutes. I had used the randomiser option to choose my characters (one of the challenges I set for myself. That, and the fact that I refuse to play on any level other than extremely hard), but it was still what I considered to be a good crew. Not to mention a sexy crew, as Talim and Taki are young, scantily clad women (Charade is a sexless construct/golem. But I bet there're some people who go for that). But having my--their--pretty little asses kicked repeatedly, so very many, many . . . many times began to make me feel I was being subjected to a brutal cruelty towards women. Lizard Man can not afford the ticket back from Suffragette City. Er, does that make sense?

The point is, folks . . . I went farbots in that little battle cage. Yes I did.

So . . . I've decided that I shall get more work done without the air coditioner, and with less light.

AH! I found my copy of Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes! It was in one of my Farscape DVD cases. Of all places! I don't remember why I put it in there . . . If I hadn't decided to watch A Clockwork Nebari to-day, who knows how long it would have been before I found it?

Gods . . . I hear children's voices elsewhere in the house . . .

I'm behind on a lot of things. I've taken the last couple of days for "research into the the arts" *koff, koff*

In the shower this morning, I started thinking about the entirety of my novel . . .

I saw Lost in Translation with Trisa on Thrusday, and I'm still in afterglow, because it was a very good movie.

In fact, the next day it put me in the mood to do nothing but absorb. Lost in Translation was the kind of movie that makes me want to take the time to appreciate art.

To watched Farscape and Star Trek: The Next Generation, read a Sherlock Holmes story and a Peter Straub story called Mrs. God, which is phenominal (of course).

Those two stories, mind you, are both short stories (actually, I think Mrs. God is a novella)--I haven't started reading a new novel since I finished Age of Innocence a few days ago. And I'm a little frustrated.

I could not begin to give you an idea of the massive quantity of unread books I have that I desperately want to read. And some of those, I'm even under a sort of obligation to read as soon as possible.

I think I've decided on Huxley's Brave New World as it was giving to me around two years ago by my cousin who I but rarely see . . . except for the fact that, starting a few days ago, he now lives in the same house as me. So I must read this book.

And after it, I suspect, I shall read the other book he gave me, and then Choke, by Chuck Palahniuk, which Trisa gave me not long ago with an air of "sponaneously read this now for fun!" I'm afraid I had to schedule that spontinaity for a later date . . .

I also need (and desperately want) to read several Peter Straub and Stephen King novels that Marty loaned to be nearly a year ago. He's been such a good sport about letting me borrow books . . . I really need to impress upon him how very slow a reader I am.

And in the meantime, I shall occasionally gaze sadly at my untouched stacks of Ursula K Leguin, William Gibson, Leo Tokstoy, Charles Dickens, Caitlin R Kiernan, Poppy Z Brite, and who knows what all . . .

You are Mitsurugi -

Both mysterious and attractive, you captivate people with the fact that you seem to be
good at everything! Spending quiet moments with a friend and talking about what life means to you is your ideal situation. You don't like to stand out very much and you seem to be more old-fashioned
than modern, but when you do take the spotlight -- you command the floor!


Which Soul Calibur character are you?


this quiz was made by david park

Bad Words


Saying things off
Truth in our seperate seats
Filled with everything
Sharing nothing

Shaded, dull, fake
Leaves of grey anonymous plants
Empty records reveal
The ordinance of silence

Pretty character of
A different story
Only canons speak
Between our galleys

Dry gunpowder and
Stupid sparks
Kill
Even as they pump blood

Every laugh is a recording
Every thought is a charity
Every moment is spent longing
For a return to sleep

We don't know what we saw
We can't wrap heart around it
Blinking we go
Invisible grocery shopping

The supermarket is a church
Alters are freezers
And in the morning sun
This is no place to be

"Jimmy rapped on and on about his suicide, how he'd kick it in the head when he was twenty five . . . Don't wanna stay alive when you're twenty five." -David Bowie

At twenty four, I basically do wanna stay alive, I guess. I got volume three of 1602 yesterday. It's shaping up to be a good little series.

To'day I'll thing some dos and what some whos.

I just got up to do something . . . and I sat back down again.

About an hour ago, I went to the supermarkert to buy something . . . and when I got there, I forgot what it was I meant to buy.

I was gonna buy something at the mall to-day . . . and then I inexplicably didn't.

I was gonna say something else here . . . but I forgot what it was.

I didn't mean to vote to-day. And I didn't. Hurrah for convictions. Y'know, Jack Kerouac never voted.

(of course, when I keep saying "to-day" what I really mean is Tuesday . . . I haven't gone to bed yet).

I ate dinner at my parents house where they've installed a new fountain in the backyard, so we were constantly treated to what sounded like a twelve foot tall man urinating. I have to go back there early to-morrow for doughnuts. Then, I have to go to school. I need to fill out the take-home "quiz" before class to-morrow . . . It's an infuriatingly simple exercise, and one which that frelling bastard has made us do in class and in groups THREE FUCKING TIMES now. Oh, yes, I had it the first time. But far be it from me to suggest that even the vaguest opportunity to force me to interact with humans should be passed up.

And now I do get to do one on my own. Oh, goody. I'm not sure if I can do it because if I do, I think I may just start to cry.

It's one of those things that you feel ought to make you feel like you're accomplishing something, as it's an important school assignment for the betterment of your grade. But when you look at it, you find that it's very lame, and you realise that upon finishing it, you going to feel very empty.

Gods, is that really what I'm whinning about here? No. Not just that. This little piece of emptiness just kind of carries with it feelings of all sorts of sensitivity of the emptiness. Things like, "Hey, I'm gonna vote for the governater!" or "No, brother, I don't want to watch Farscape, even though I'm sitting and watching nothing on the TV" or "Now, boys and girls, we have to feel all the feelings in the world, okay?"

I've been watching Neon Genesis Evangelion a lot lately, and Asuka's line; "Mina daikirai!" ("I hate everyone!") keeps resounding in my head.

I don't want to hate the people I love. I love the people I love. But lately I've been wanting to scream at most of them . . .

My mother was watching Oprah to-day. I stood close by as Oprah interviewed a woman who'd been in solitary confinement.

I could do with being in solitary confinement. How nice if the whole world was contained within four, very close walls . . .

I was surprisingly sociable yesterday. I gave out my URL to two people (If you're one, or somehow both, of these people, welcome). Hopefully I won't all together fall off my anti-human wagon.

Yesterday I also had a brief and depressing visit with Trisa. And I had two brief, but depressing classes.

Time for me to go. I suppose I oughta go vote. But since when have I been a legal citizen of this planet?

Currently wearing headphones with no sound coming out of them . . . yes, let's have some music . . .

Ah. The Rasputina cover of Velvet Underground's "All To-morrow's Parties". Good, good.

It's hot in this room.

I need to go to sleep.

I don't want to sleep at all. I wanna wake up and have Monday happen already. I'll be honest with you, I'm disappointed with myself. I'm completely unprepared for class to-morrow and that bastard'll put us in groups.

Ugh. I feel frantic and lethargic, exhausted and impatient, consumed and empty, and all that usually unusual rot.

I told Trisa a few weeks ago that I was going to cultivate my uselessness. I'm making headway, but I need to go further. Or so the Lovecraft Tarot tells me.

There's a big crack in my windshield. I think it just might be getting steadily larger. Tim told me it could just break on me while I'm on the freeway. I thought this was just more of Tim's paranoid claptrap. That guy slept with a black widow spider last night--he told me he's gonna do something about it to-night.

I'm gonna keep up steam until dawn. Let's list the things I oughta be doing. My horoscope said I should do that on Saturday, but I procrastinated. So here 'tis now.

I need to work on my novel.

I need to kind of rewrite everything I wrote for part 8. Or at least heavily edit it.

I need to read a lot of my text book.

I need to care, damnit. I need heart.

Plus I have another project I started on Friday . . .

And there's a short story I wrote half of a few weeks ago . . .

I have eight dollars. Hurrah! In your face "hurrah"! I can get coffee to-morrow morning.

You know what I want, though? A pretty concubine.