two_grey_rooms: (& put it on repeat)
dear internet:

if you are looking for trenchant commentary upon the inner-workings of humanity from a voluptuous and beautiful young woman, then you should read the livejournal of my dear friend, [livejournal.com profile] archy_the_roach. i have accomplished getting my fabulous rl friend phoebe to join the recesses of livejournal by alternately threatening her with physical harm and proffering sexual favors (the latter of which she vehemently declined). now she's harassing me into pimping her shit, so i suppose i shall perpetuate the cycle of affable abuse by commanding you to go friend the shit out of her, okay? just do it. or you'll displease tiny turtle. and no one wants that.

with love and death threats,
ellie
two_grey_rooms: (& put it on repeat)
dear internet:

if you are looking for trenchant commentary upon the inner-workings of humanity from a voluptuous and beautiful young woman, then you should read the livejournal of my dear friend, [livejournal.com profile] archy_the_roach. i have accomplished getting my fabulous rl friend phoebe to join the recesses of livejournal by alternately threatening her with physical harm and proffering sexual favors (the latter of which she vehemently declined). now she's harassing me into pimping her shit, so i suppose i shall perpetuate the cycle of affable abuse by commanding you to go friend the shit out of her, okay? just do it. or you'll displease tiny turtle. and no one wants that.

with love and death threats,
ellie
two_grey_rooms: (so why keep doing what you do)
i had to share this post. i officially declare it Required Reading if you know someone who lives with a mental illness or a personality order. (which you do if you are reading this post right now, so HAH THAT MEANS YOU HAVE TO READ IT. YOU HAVE BEEN COMMANDED BY THE CRAZY.) (also, you probably also know someone who is not me with a mental illness or personality disorder, even if you don't know it, just 'cause statistics say so. WE WALK AMONG YOU.)
two_grey_rooms: (so why keep doing what you do)
i had to share this post. i officially declare it Required Reading if you know someone who lives with a mental illness or a personality order. (which you do if you are reading this post right now, so HAH THAT MEANS YOU HAVE TO READ IT. YOU HAVE BEEN COMMANDED BY THE CRAZY.) (also, you probably also know someone who is not me with a mental illness or personality disorder, even if you don't know it, just 'cause statistics say so. WE WALK AMONG YOU.)
two_grey_rooms: (and we remain quite strangers)
I...just felt compelled to add myself as a livejournal friend, for reasons I am finding difficult to articulate. Uhm. Some possible explanations I am entertaining in the face of a TOTAL VOID OF LOGIC:

1. This course of action clearly promotes the illusion of self-confidence. I am even considering someday finding it a place on a shiny, shiny college resume.

2. OR MAYBE it is of a profane nature and doesn't belong in such an overwhelmingly scrupulous environment: maybe I have actually just answered the eternal question would I do me? (I WOULD, AND I DO, IN CASE YOU MISSED THAT.)

2. OR MAYBE it is actually a masochistic Cave of Solitude. HOW WILL I EVER FRIEND ME BACK? WHAT IF I DRIVE ME TO FLOUNCIFICATION? I DON'T THINK I AM BUILT TO SURVIVE THIS KINDA ANGST. D: D: D:

3. ...and now I'm too busy weeping piteously to think of any more reasons. *BASKS IN LONELY LIVEJOURNAL DESPERADO-DOM* (I am totally badass enough to be a desperado okay. I am at least an outlaw in the face of LOGIC, and no one can deny that.)

[Poll #1397035]

...my brain, sometimes ze is inane as all hell. And I mean the doctor's-waiting-room level of hell reserved for procrastinators, I guess, because otherwise the phrase "inane as all hell" doesn't actually make any SENSE, does it. Because fire and brimstone are much more terrifying and smelly than they are inane. In other, much more pressing news, tea is delicious. Do you know who is even more delicious than tea? BETH MOTHERFUCKING DITTO, THAT'S WHO. THE GOSSIP HAS A NEW SINGLE OUT, YOU GUYS \o/ \o/ \o/. If you are unacquainted with Beth Ditto, she is all you ever need to know about awesomeness, pretty much. If you need any convincing, I would like to introduce you to [livejournal.com profile] ishyface's kick-ass picspam from forevers ago. I would also like to advertise the fact that an earbud has just found its way nearly up my left nostril, for reasons I am not sure enough of to report (read: I AM SO UNCOORDINATED THAT SOMETIMES THINGS WOT DON'T BELONG IN IMPOSSIBLE ORIFICES END UP THERE. that sounds horrifically double entendre-y, doesn't it ;__;). LET IT BE KNOWN THAT EVEN MY BOOGERS ARE RIOT GRRRLS. Also, this entry lacks any cohesive narrative. In case you hadn't noticed already. BRAIN, DO YOU THINK YOU COULD MANAGE TO SIT STILL FOR AWHILE? I WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATIVE, JUST SAYIN.

(ALSO, IT IS FRIDAY. I NO DO THE THINKY TOO WELL TONIGHT, BUT HEY! I LIKE THIS. DOUBLEPLUSGOOOOOD.)
two_grey_rooms: (and we remain quite strangers)
I...just felt compelled to add myself as a livejournal friend, for reasons I am finding difficult to articulate. Uhm. Some possible explanations I am entertaining in the face of a TOTAL VOID OF LOGIC:

1. This course of action clearly promotes the illusion of self-confidence. I am even considering someday finding it a place on a shiny, shiny college resume.

2. OR MAYBE it is of a profane nature and doesn't belong in such an overwhelmingly scrupulous environment: maybe I have actually just answered the eternal question would I do me? (I WOULD, AND I DO, IN CASE YOU MISSED THAT.)

2. OR MAYBE it is actually a masochistic Cave of Solitude. HOW WILL I EVER FRIEND ME BACK? WHAT IF I DRIVE ME TO FLOUNCIFICATION? I DON'T THINK I AM BUILT TO SURVIVE THIS KINDA ANGST. D: D: D:

3. ...and now I'm too busy weeping piteously to think of any more reasons. *BASKS IN LONELY LIVEJOURNAL DESPERADO-DOM* (I am totally badass enough to be a desperado okay. I am at least an outlaw in the face of LOGIC, and no one can deny that.)

[Poll #1397035]

...my brain, sometimes ze is inane as all hell. And I mean the doctor's-waiting-room level of hell reserved for procrastinators, I guess, because otherwise the phrase "inane as all hell" doesn't actually make any SENSE, does it. Because fire and brimstone are much more terrifying and smelly than they are inane. In other, much more pressing news, tea is delicious. Do you know who is even more delicious than tea? BETH MOTHERFUCKING DITTO, THAT'S WHO. THE GOSSIP HAS A NEW SINGLE OUT, YOU GUYS \o/ \o/ \o/. If you are unacquainted with Beth Ditto, she is all you ever need to know about awesomeness, pretty much. If you need any convincing, I would like to introduce you to [livejournal.com profile] ishyface's kick-ass picspam from forevers ago. I would also like to advertise the fact that an earbud has just found its way nearly up my left nostril, for reasons I am not sure enough of to report (read: I AM SO UNCOORDINATED THAT SOMETIMES THINGS WOT DON'T BELONG IN IMPOSSIBLE ORIFICES END UP THERE. that sounds horrifically double entendre-y, doesn't it ;__;). LET IT BE KNOWN THAT EVEN MY BOOGERS ARE RIOT GRRRLS. Also, this entry lacks any cohesive narrative. In case you hadn't noticed already. BRAIN, DO YOU THINK YOU COULD MANAGE TO SIT STILL FOR AWHILE? I WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATIVE, JUST SAYIN.

(ALSO, IT IS FRIDAY. I NO DO THE THINKY TOO WELL TONIGHT, BUT HEY! I LIKE THIS. DOUBLEPLUSGOOOOOD.)
two_grey_rooms: (office supplies are the antichrist!)
FUCK YEAH, COLBERT NATION.

And this is why Stephen Colbert is the mack daddy of our country. Goodnight, America, and all of you citizens of other countries who desperately wish they had a Colbert but aren't quite cool enough.
two_grey_rooms: (office supplies are the antichrist!)
FUCK YEAH, COLBERT NATION.

And this is why Stephen Colbert is the mack daddy of our country. Goodnight, America, and all of you citizens of other countries who desperately wish they had a Colbert but aren't quite cool enough.
two_grey_rooms: (Default)
I KNOW this is pretty obnoxious on account of how I just posted about two seconds ago. But. Vonnegut was such a fantastic human being whose words needs to be shared at every available interstice, I swear. Here's the full quote, because I am evidently in a sort of typing-up-other-people's-words mood tonight:

No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our corporations, our media, and our religious and charitable institutions may become, the music will still be wonderful.

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

Now, during our catastrophically idiotic war in Vietnam, the music kept getting better and better and better. We lost that war, by the way. Order couldn't be restored in Indochina until the people kicked us out.

That war only made billionaires out of millionaires. Today's war is making trillionaires out of billionaires. Now I call that progress.

And how come the people in countries we invade can't fight like ladies and gentlemen, in uniform and with tanks and helicopter gunships?

Back to music. It makes practically everybody fonder of life than he or she would be without it. Even military bands, although I am a pacifist, always cheer me up. And I really like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but the priceless gift that African Americans gave the whole world when they were still in slavery was a gift so great that it is now almost the only reason many foreigners still like us at least a little bit. That specific remedy for the worldwide epidemic of depression is a gift called the blues. All pop music today--jazz, swing, be-bop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock-and-roll, hip-hop, and on and on--is derived from the blues.

A gift to the world? One of the best rhythm-and-blues combos I ever heard was three guys and a girl from Finland playing in a club in Krakow, Poland.

The wonderful writer Albert Murray, who is a jazz historian and a friend of mine among other things, told me that during the era of slavery in this country--an atrocity from which we can never fully recover--the suicide rate per capita among slave owners was much higher than the suicide rate among slaves.

Murray says he thinks this was because slaves had a way of dealing with depression, which their white owners did not: They could shoo away Old Man Suicide by playing and singing the Blues. He says something else which also sounds right to me. He says the blues can't drive depression clear out of a house, but can drive it in the corners of any room where it's being played. So please remember that.


And--of course--here is "Blues from Down Here," and, as is my wont, lookee there are the lyrics: )

In my quiet moments, I totally think Vonnegut woulda been a TV on the Radio fangirl. He would've liked that they freely admit they have no idea what they're doing and that "A lot of bands have something to say...[they] have something to ask." That seemed like a pretty bitchin'-ly Vonnegutian sentiment to me anyway. Here, let me continue this post's theme, and leave you all with another profoundly inspiring quote from the mouth of Mr. David Andrew Sitek:

"Most of the music that I like was made on dope. There is no way I could play a song back to myself 3,000 times unless I was stoned. I don't ever want to repeat myself, so I try to be not too conscious of the process...Sitting in my underwear doing bong hits is how I get a mix to gel."

motherfucking \o/!
two_grey_rooms: (Default)
I KNOW this is pretty obnoxious on account of how I just posted about two seconds ago. But. Vonnegut was such a fantastic human being whose words needs to be shared at every available interstice, I swear. Here's the full quote, because I am evidently in a sort of typing-up-other-people's-words mood tonight:

No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our corporations, our media, and our religious and charitable institutions may become, the music will still be wonderful.

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

Now, during our catastrophically idiotic war in Vietnam, the music kept getting better and better and better. We lost that war, by the way. Order couldn't be restored in Indochina until the people kicked us out.

That war only made billionaires out of millionaires. Today's war is making trillionaires out of billionaires. Now I call that progress.

And how come the people in countries we invade can't fight like ladies and gentlemen, in uniform and with tanks and helicopter gunships?

Back to music. It makes practically everybody fonder of life than he or she would be without it. Even military bands, although I am a pacifist, always cheer me up. And I really like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but the priceless gift that African Americans gave the whole world when they were still in slavery was a gift so great that it is now almost the only reason many foreigners still like us at least a little bit. That specific remedy for the worldwide epidemic of depression is a gift called the blues. All pop music today--jazz, swing, be-bop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock-and-roll, hip-hop, and on and on--is derived from the blues.

A gift to the world? One of the best rhythm-and-blues combos I ever heard was three guys and a girl from Finland playing in a club in Krakow, Poland.

The wonderful writer Albert Murray, who is a jazz historian and a friend of mine among other things, told me that during the era of slavery in this country--an atrocity from which we can never fully recover--the suicide rate per capita among slave owners was much higher than the suicide rate among slaves.

Murray says he thinks this was because slaves had a way of dealing with depression, which their white owners did not: They could shoo away Old Man Suicide by playing and singing the Blues. He says something else which also sounds right to me. He says the blues can't drive depression clear out of a house, but can drive it in the corners of any room where it's being played. So please remember that.


And--of course--here is "Blues from Down Here," and, as is my wont, lookee there are the lyrics: )

In my quiet moments, I totally think Vonnegut woulda been a TV on the Radio fangirl. He would've liked that they freely admit they have no idea what they're doing and that "A lot of bands have something to say...[they] have something to ask." That seemed like a pretty bitchin'-ly Vonnegutian sentiment to me anyway. Here, let me continue this post's theme, and leave you all with another profoundly inspiring quote from the mouth of Mr. David Andrew Sitek:

"Most of the music that I like was made on dope. There is no way I could play a song back to myself 3,000 times unless I was stoned. I don't ever want to repeat myself, so I try to be not too conscious of the process...Sitting in my underwear doing bong hits is how I get a mix to gel."

motherfucking \o/!
two_grey_rooms: (your frozen respite)
I am--inexplicably, all-encompassingly fucking giddy right now, and I wish to tell you all about it! Really, today has just been this great long procession of tiny little lovely things that have collectively made me absurdly happy. Also they seem to make me want to blather fulsome adjective abuse into my livejournal. For this I apologize.

Just. I dunno! I didn't actually get out of my pajamas all day. There's going to be a snow day tomorrow, if I can trust the weather reports promising a blizzard of apocalyptic proportions. (Even if I end up having to wake up at 6:00, right now the snow is a pretty fabulous sight to behold.) My best friend called me at, like, the exact moment I was thinking of calling her before I got anywhere near the phone ("THAT'S SO CREEPY. WERE YOU GOING TO CALL TO TALK ABOUT TV ON THE RADIO?" which obviously I was. because we're connected at the brain). We are seeing TV on the Radio in Central Park in June, and I am going to have an excitement-induced coronary. I just realized I'm actually really pleased with my schedule for next year instead of freaking the fuck out over it (probably this will last just until my furlough from school ends on Tuesday and I go back to wanting to go join the fucking circus instead).

Speaking of TV on the Radio, I spent half the day listening to Return to Cookie Mountain. This is pretty pitiful, I think, but dancing around your room like a freak is indisputably awesome.

This is a really boring update! (I thought maybe I could salvage it with some exciting punctuation. Did it work?) I guess it's always really retarded to talk about happiness, isn't it, unless you're Naomi Shihab Nye or some shit. I guess I just want to be able to find this again, in a public post, and go, what the fuck was I thinking? this post is drivel. but I remember being weirdly enthused about it.

also I totally have to catch up on my memes! AND NOW WE REACH THE CRUX OF THE POST, TRULY. BECAUSE MEMES ARE SRS BSNS. come listen to me ramble some more, about drag kings who happen to be superheroes and mancrushes who happen to be gods and scandalous disavowals oh my )

Just for the record:
1. HOLY SHIT IT'S STILL SNOWING! If I stand outside in it and just look up, I get impossibly dizzy, and if vertigo were that wonderful all the time, everyone would be fucking dying of inner ear disorders.
2. If I do have to wake up in three and a half hours, I'm gonna choke a bitch.
3. If you actually read all that, I AM SO SORRY. I will send you apologetic arrangements of fruit in the mail. OH BUT I CAN RAMBLE :D :D
4. Apologies for being horribly behind on flist. Will rectify tomorrow, amidst SNOOOOW YAYE.
two_grey_rooms: (your frozen respite)
I am--inexplicably, all-encompassingly fucking giddy right now, and I wish to tell you all about it! Really, today has just been this great long procession of tiny little lovely things that have collectively made me absurdly happy. Also they seem to make me want to blather fulsome adjective abuse into my livejournal. For this I apologize.

Just. I dunno! I didn't actually get out of my pajamas all day. There's going to be a snow day tomorrow, if I can trust the weather reports promising a blizzard of apocalyptic proportions. (Even if I end up having to wake up at 6:00, right now the snow is a pretty fabulous sight to behold.) My best friend called me at, like, the exact moment I was thinking of calling her before I got anywhere near the phone ("THAT'S SO CREEPY. WERE YOU GOING TO CALL TO TALK ABOUT TV ON THE RADIO?" which obviously I was. because we're connected at the brain). We are seeing TV on the Radio in Central Park in June, and I am going to have an excitement-induced coronary. I just realized I'm actually really pleased with my schedule for next year instead of freaking the fuck out over it (probably this will last just until my furlough from school ends on Tuesday and I go back to wanting to go join the fucking circus instead).

Speaking of TV on the Radio, I spent half the day listening to Return to Cookie Mountain. This is pretty pitiful, I think, but dancing around your room like a freak is indisputably awesome.

This is a really boring update! (I thought maybe I could salvage it with some exciting punctuation. Did it work?) I guess it's always really retarded to talk about happiness, isn't it, unless you're Naomi Shihab Nye or some shit. I guess I just want to be able to find this again, in a public post, and go, what the fuck was I thinking? this post is drivel. but I remember being weirdly enthused about it.

also I totally have to catch up on my memes! AND NOW WE REACH THE CRUX OF THE POST, TRULY. BECAUSE MEMES ARE SRS BSNS. come listen to me ramble some more, about drag kings who happen to be superheroes and mancrushes who happen to be gods and scandalous disavowals oh my )

Just for the record:
1. HOLY SHIT IT'S STILL SNOWING! If I stand outside in it and just look up, I get impossibly dizzy, and if vertigo were that wonderful all the time, everyone would be fucking dying of inner ear disorders.
2. If I do have to wake up in three and a half hours, I'm gonna choke a bitch.
3. If you actually read all that, I AM SO SORRY. I will send you apologetic arrangements of fruit in the mail. OH BUT I CAN RAMBLE :D :D
4. Apologies for being horribly behind on flist. Will rectify tomorrow, amidst SNOOOOW YAYE.
two_grey_rooms: (a hero in the eyes of fetuses everywhere)
So, I (finally!) saw Milk today and yeah, I may have cried. Just a little bit. I am feeling pretty inarticulate at the moment, but suffice it to say that this review rocks. If you haven't seen it yet, GO DO IT. If it's, um, still playing anywhere. I am always the last person ever to see movies, and this unfortunate fact is showing. /o\

(And dude, what is up with Josh Brolin, and why has he been playing so many terrifying Republicans lately?)

Apropos of nothing, my brother is on sabbatical from being an Internet Tyrant tonight! By which I mean my internet is impressively faily, by which I mean that whenever I download/upload music the internet (thereby affecting every other computer in the house) crawls along at the relative pace of a slug on weed, by which I mean that computer-addicted brother goes bonkers every time I want new music. WHICH MEANS THAT TONIGHT I HAVE THE INTERNET TO MYSELF AND HAVE BEEN DOWNLOADING LIKE A MAD THING WHICH MEANS THAT I AM ALSO WELCOMING YOUR REQUESTS WITH ALACRITY! Um, I have no formal pdf of my library, but here's my last.fm if you want to have a poke around.

Also: Y HALO THAR, NEW FRIENDS! *waves* Haven't checked my flist yet today (first impression for the ages, right), but SUP? I might write up an intro post tomorrow, but if I don't, I've got to update my user info so it says something other than "I like 'A Softer World' comics and stealing 'A Softer World' comics and putting them in my user info" pretty soon anyway, so you know. Whatever comes first.
two_grey_rooms: (a hero in the eyes of fetuses everywhere)
So, I (finally!) saw Milk today and yeah, I may have cried. Just a little bit. I am feeling pretty inarticulate at the moment, but suffice it to say that this review rocks. If you haven't seen it yet, GO DO IT. If it's, um, still playing anywhere. I am always the last person ever to see movies, and this unfortunate fact is showing. /o\

(And dude, what is up with Josh Brolin, and why has he been playing so many terrifying Republicans lately?)

Apropos of nothing, my brother is on sabbatical from being an Internet Tyrant tonight! By which I mean my internet is impressively faily, by which I mean that whenever I download/upload music the internet (thereby affecting every other computer in the house) crawls along at the relative pace of a slug on weed, by which I mean that computer-addicted brother goes bonkers every time I want new music. WHICH MEANS THAT TONIGHT I HAVE THE INTERNET TO MYSELF AND HAVE BEEN DOWNLOADING LIKE A MAD THING WHICH MEANS THAT I AM ALSO WELCOMING YOUR REQUESTS WITH ALACRITY! Um, I have no formal pdf of my library, but here's my last.fm if you want to have a poke around.

Also: Y HALO THAR, NEW FRIENDS! *waves* Haven't checked my flist yet today (first impression for the ages, right), but SUP? I might write up an intro post tomorrow, but if I don't, I've got to update my user info so it says something other than "I like 'A Softer World' comics and stealing 'A Softer World' comics and putting them in my user info" pretty soon anyway, so you know. Whatever comes first.
two_grey_rooms: (gratuitous boobage)
"Beneath My Hands"
by Leonard Cohen

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

additional rambling for those so inclined )
two_grey_rooms: (gratuitous boobage)
"Beneath My Hands"
by Leonard Cohen

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

additional rambling for those so inclined )
two_grey_rooms: (the lunatic is on the grass)
I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO TELL YOU....

I figure being perpetually caught up on my flist + occasionally piping in with posts ruminating on Marc Chagall's contribution to the zombie apocalypse TOTALLY means it's time for the anon memes to start kicking around this journal. Trufax, I have been admiring them from afar all throughout my LJ furlough. I'm not so sure what exactly is the allure of eye-burning html marshaling in comments promising to tell me I've an alternate personality moonlighting as a furry, BUT I'M ROLLING WITH IT, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Other things I love: 1) Jeanette Winterson rendered sketchy by fangirling Alison Bechdel, 2) MY RIDICULOUS FUCKING HETEROSEXIST PURITANICAL ADJECTIVE-ABUSE-INDUCING FORMAL "SEX EDUCATION" FINALLY FUCKING ENDING THIS WEEK, 3) dancing around my living room to Los Campesinos! in very little clothing, and 3) LONG CAT IS LOOOOOOOONG. Oh my god the internet is eating my brain.

Hi, flist! How are you all?
two_grey_rooms: (the lunatic is on the grass)
I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO TELL YOU....

I figure being perpetually caught up on my flist + occasionally piping in with posts ruminating on Marc Chagall's contribution to the zombie apocalypse TOTALLY means it's time for the anon memes to start kicking around this journal. Trufax, I have been admiring them from afar all throughout my LJ furlough. I'm not so sure what exactly is the allure of eye-burning html marshaling in comments promising to tell me I've an alternate personality moonlighting as a furry, BUT I'M ROLLING WITH IT, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Other things I love: 1) Jeanette Winterson rendered sketchy by fangirling Alison Bechdel, 2) MY RIDICULOUS FUCKING HETEROSEXIST PURITANICAL ADJECTIVE-ABUSE-INDUCING FORMAL "SEX EDUCATION" FINALLY FUCKING ENDING THIS WEEK, 3) dancing around my living room to Los Campesinos! in very little clothing, and 3) LONG CAT IS LOOOOOOOONG. Oh my god the internet is eating my brain.

Hi, flist! How are you all?
two_grey_rooms: (in this illusionary place)
So, today I was aiming to make a post about America's First President To Have Paraphrased Spider-Man And What He Means To Me, but I opted instead to go up to my room, to very quickly drop off my coat, and then somehow I found myself waking up twenty years later in the middle of the Catskill mountains with a crazy fuckin' beard and a revolution I knew nothing about underway in my motherland, and my wife is dead, and MY LIFE WAS LIKE TOTALLY OVER--

And then I decided to stop being Rip Van Winkle and study for my math test like the diligent little student I am. Even though it was almost six-o-fucking-clock, WHAT.

Which is what I did all day night, sans eat dinner, which is why I was going to go back to sleep without so much as a flist comment today, but my dad just came home from his Very Important Temple Gathering. Evidently, the featured film of his Very Important Moth-Ball-Scented, Sweater-Vest-Clad Temple Gathering Film Night was not about "uhhh some old Jewish person!" ("...could you be a little more specific than that, Dad?" "Uhhh I think, something about, uh, art?") as was promised over the phone, but was about MARC FUCKING CHAGALL whom I love madly (who is, admittedly, some old--if by "old" you mean "dead"--Jewish person with something to do with art, but so is my grandma and her collection of horrifying malformed beaded animals).

My precious father, who is officially the preciousest dad in all the land, tried to make it up to me by offering to stalk Marc Chagall's granddaughter in her place of employ. I wish I knew what to make of this.

eta: BECAUSE MY DAD'S BRAIN, LET ME SHOW IT TO YOU. It only gets crackier.

DAD: ALSO MARC CHAGALL SPOKE TO US AND HE WAS REALLY NICE!
ME: Dad, Marc Chagall is dead oh my god what sect of Judaism did you say your temple was again?
DAD: HA HA HA.
ME: No, but seriously, he's dead. You, you know this, right?
DAD: YES!
ME: ...?!?
DAD: I MEANT. HE SPOKE. IN THE MOVIE. OH OH IT'S STILL PLAYING! YOU COULD SEE IT WITH ME! MICHELLE MICHELLE COME BE JEWISH WITH ME!!!

Next week, you guys, I am going to join my father in COMMUNING WITH THE DEAD. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? I'M LOOKIN' AT YOU, MR. OBAMA. CAN YOU ZOMBIFY MARC CHAGALL? I THINK NOT!
two_grey_rooms: (in this illusionary place)
So, today I was aiming to make a post about America's First President To Have Paraphrased Spider-Man And What He Means To Me, but I opted instead to go up to my room, to very quickly drop off my coat, and then somehow I found myself waking up twenty years later in the middle of the Catskill mountains with a crazy fuckin' beard and a revolution I knew nothing about underway in my motherland, and my wife is dead, and MY LIFE WAS LIKE TOTALLY OVER--

And then I decided to stop being Rip Van Winkle and study for my math test like the diligent little student I am. Even though it was almost six-o-fucking-clock, WHAT.

Which is what I did all day night, sans eat dinner, which is why I was going to go back to sleep without so much as a flist comment today, but my dad just came home from his Very Important Temple Gathering. Evidently, the featured film of his Very Important Moth-Ball-Scented, Sweater-Vest-Clad Temple Gathering Film Night was not about "uhhh some old Jewish person!" ("...could you be a little more specific than that, Dad?" "Uhhh I think, something about, uh, art?") as was promised over the phone, but was about MARC FUCKING CHAGALL whom I love madly (who is, admittedly, some old--if by "old" you mean "dead"--Jewish person with something to do with art, but so is my grandma and her collection of horrifying malformed beaded animals).

My precious father, who is officially the preciousest dad in all the land, tried to make it up to me by offering to stalk Marc Chagall's granddaughter in her place of employ. I wish I knew what to make of this.

eta: BECAUSE MY DAD'S BRAIN, LET ME SHOW IT TO YOU. It only gets crackier.

DAD: ALSO MARC CHAGALL SPOKE TO US AND HE WAS REALLY NICE!
ME: Dad, Marc Chagall is dead oh my god what sect of Judaism did you say your temple was again?
DAD: HA HA HA.
ME: No, but seriously, he's dead. You, you know this, right?
DAD: YES!
ME: ...?!?
DAD: I MEANT. HE SPOKE. IN THE MOVIE. OH OH IT'S STILL PLAYING! YOU COULD SEE IT WITH ME! MICHELLE MICHELLE COME BE JEWISH WITH ME!!!

Next week, you guys, I am going to join my father in COMMUNING WITH THE DEAD. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? I'M LOOKIN' AT YOU, MR. OBAMA. CAN YOU ZOMBIFY MARC CHAGALL? I THINK NOT!

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June 2012

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