A Man of Wealth and Taste

I am the lowest common denominator, which sounds like a superhero name if you try. I am the dark and most perverted midnight in a crowded nightclub where all the men who should know better leer at girls too young to care and both are left feeling slightly and inexplicably betrayed. I am the sleepless night and the wasted day, and I will come for you when you are too afraid to watch out in front of you. I am the hastily written note of farewell while a taxi waits outside to take us somewhere free. I am the grown-up rebel, with a mortgage and three kids in school and a leather jacket gathering moths in the skeleton-crowded closet. I am the faked smile in the family photo, the same dull anecdote, the drink and the smoke every night that’s gonna kill you one of these days. Then again, won’t everything? Only if you let it, I suppose. I am the laughter at a stranger’s misfortune, the endless ridicule, the backstabbing.

Pleased to meet you — won’t you guess my name?

this is what happens when I get too much sleep

Scaramouche:
I am in need of more notebooks.
(*coughcoughBIRTHDAYINAMONTHcoughhack*)

Dan:
hahaha
I know, love, good to know.

Scaramouche:
Also more mechanical pencils and pens and the like!

Dan:
ah

Scaramouche:
AND POSSIBLY A RHYMING DICTIONARY
I should make a list, man…

Dan:
hahaha

Scaramouche:
OR A THESAURUS
IT IS A DINOSAUR WITH A *MASSIVE* VOCABULARY

Dan:
hahaha
yes, dear

Scaramouche:
USING WORDS LIKE “UNDULATE” AND “LUMINOSITY”

Dan:
🙂

Scaramouche:
Undulating luminosity?
ooh.

Dan:
hahahaha

Scaramouche:
MSN name’d.
… wait, I don’t need that apostrophe.

Dan:
hahahaha

Scaramouche:
Well I’m glad I’m amusing you, at any rate.
What with my UTTER DISREGARD for apostrophe welfare.
Little apostrophe children lining up for soup…
Begging in the streets.

Dan:
but didn’t you just employ one?

Scaramouche:
Their well-to-do neighbours, the quotation marks, tossing a comma or two into their — eh?
Oh.
So I did.
Well.
Yes.

Dan:
hahaha

Scaramouche:
Must you?

Dan:
must I what?

Scaramouche:
Spoil a perfectly good tirade about the injustice faced by punctuation everywhere.

Dan:
hahahaha

Scaramouche:
Be thankful I’m one of those who *does* employ them.
Some would toss them to the wayside like so many grains of rice.
(Who, you might add, would throw away perfectly good rice? I’ll tell you who. People who don’t like rice.)

Dan:
hahahaha

Scaramouche:
You see, I’ve had too much sleep.
SLEEP MADNESS
I HAS IT

Dan:
if the only symptom is being vastly entertaining, that’s fine with me.

Christianity doesn’t like me.

Okay, what the hell.

Apparently, Christians don’t like my beliefs. They write blog posts about them. Angry blog posts, filled with bread. Angry, righteous bread. Seriously, what is the deal with all the bread, man?

So, in this post, I talked about how I felt about sex and whatnot. The person who wrote the blog post linked earlier, “elmantheman”, decided to comment saying I was essentially wrong. He disregarded my personal beliefs entirely and pushed me towards  Christianity, urging me to Christian sites.

I visited these sites (actually, this site, as he only gave me one, over and over again). They’re full of the same slings and arrows I see coming from fundie Christians everywhere.

This elman guy doesn’t appear to understand that I believe in something different than he does. I accept his beliefs (though they are based on something that is, if nothing else, WAYY out of date), so why can’t he accept mine? He doesn’t know me – he called me a HE, for goodness’ sake – and he doesn’t know why I believe what I do. My life, and my AFTERlife, is none of his business. Why does he criticize me on my decisions for MY life, and not expect me to do the same?

Look. Just because my religion is based on my own opinions, my own values, my own experiences, does NOT mean it is any less valid. So I don’t belong to an organized religion. SO FUCKING WHAT? I still take pride in my beliefs, and I still feel fulfilled by them, and that’s all that matters to me. I don’t need an old book to tell me how to live my life. I don’t need ANYONE to tell me how to live my life. I live life according to MY rules, MY values. It’s all about ME, baby.

Your religion, on the other hand, is so unoriginal.  You have to follow their rules or ETERNAL HELLFIRE. Be who they tell you to be or ETERNAL HELLFIRE. Of course, you have no repercussions for being a total dick to people if they don’t conform to your standards.

Hey, elman? I LIKE CHICKS. That’s right. I’m into girls. I’m a girl, and I’m into girls. ISN’T THAT SHOCKING!! I’m going STRAIGHT to hell. And guess what else?  I’m a spiritualist. That’s right, I don’t believe in your god. OMGZ TEH HORROR!!!

When will people realize that hate for others is NOT Christian? Christianity isn’t about being the biggest recruiter. It’s about LOVING your fellow man. It’s about peace and love and harmony and being groovy and all that cool jazz. Not hating on others for being different.

To quote one of my favourite movies, “Saved!”: Why would God make us all so different if he wanted us to be the same?

That’s all from me. I’m out, yo. Peace.

Grow up, take some criticism, stop being such an ass.

Today I’m gonna talk about criticism. This post was inspired by an idiot I know on deviantART who I’ve been fighting with lately. He fancies himself a “poet”. He’s really, really, REALLY bad at writing poetry. I decided to helpfully point out some stuff he should work on (spelling, grammar, punctuation, generally not being such a pretentious twit…), and he flipped out. Got all high-and-mighty. He truly believes he’s better than me, and dismisses my comments as just me being a bitch. (Which, okay, sometimes I am, but mostly I’m just trying to help.)  That bugs me so much, you’ve no idea.

My problem is mostly that he thinks he’s perfect, and that he couldn’t possibly improve. But that is absolute crap and anyone with half a brain knows it. I fancy myself a pretty great singer, but I’m always open to criticism and ways to improve myself. If nothing else, I want to strive for perfection. I can take criticism if it’s legitimately founded, and I know I probably deserve it. This guy can’t seem to take criticism at all. He replies with petty insults (at one point telling me that someone mistook me for a boy the other day [I am a girl]) and totally dismisses me. And at the same time, he demands that I treat him with respect. But why should I treat him with respect when he doesn’t treat me the same?

I have two main pet peeves. One is people using the English language improperly (to quote one of my best friends: “Whenever I see the letter ‘U’ replacing the word ‘you’ I die a little inside!”). The other is people demanding that I treat them well, when they treat me poorly. Both of these are true of this guy.

In reference to the second pet peeve, it’s just pure immaturity that causes it. Grow up! You’re not, in fact, perfect. No one is. The only way you’ll BECOME perfect is if you stop being a douche and accept that YOU MIGHT BE WRONG. Someone else is right, though. And they’re being nice and telling you how to BE right. Just man up and take their advice. It’s that simple.

That said… this guy is still a douche.

a world of annoyance

I have always been the sort of person who has a deep, deep affection for music of all kinds. It touches me on a deep, personal level. It is to this day the only thing that can soothe me when my world is coming apart, the only thing that simultaneously grounds me and lets me fly. Music, to me, is the only real truth in this world. It is the only thing that makes sense anymore. It breathes and lives and when I’m sad it wraps a blanket of sound around me and when I’m happy it dances with me and when I’m angry it rages with me and when I’m in love it sings its praises to the sky with me.

Thusly, I find it SO. DAMNED. IRRITATING when people insist on raping my sweet Music’s corpse. Specifically, I hate. hate. hate. hate. hate. hate. hate. hate. hate. HIGH. SCHOOL. MUSICAL.

That piece of ever-lovin’ SHIT has no place in life. There is no reason for it. It has no purpose. The songs do not have any depth. No meaning.  Nothing! It is pointless, mindless, utter fluff.

 And SOMEHOW! The Powers That Be have deemed this tripe, this… this total waste of soundwaves: “BEST SOUNDTRACK” in the American Music Awards.

I have only one question.

WHYYYY??? What in the name of the Divine possessed you idiots to even NOMINATE that ridiculous concoction of all that is evil and wrong?? When there was the option of Across the Universe (the most beautiful and meaningful and perfect creation of film and music I have ever seen), how could you have possibly decided, “No… let’s go with the fluff. Genius is overrated.”

Ugh. I am disgusted with life. Kill me now, plz.

the cause of my insane laughter in the middle of the night

I just got the urge to tell funny stories from my life. Yay!

So, my dad was in university and he got REALLY drunk one time. Went shopping, bought this huge thing of cream cheese. God knows why. Next morning, he’s really hung over, and he’s walking around the grounds. Walks by this huge-ass white wall. Turns to look at it. This is essentially his train of thought: “What the – what does that say? ‘AIRBORNE’? What is that written in? … Cream cheese? … ohhhh.” Turns out he’d written the word AIRBORNE on the wall in cream cheese that night, when he’d been drunk. By far the most surreal moment of his life.

Another story!

My sister was in math class one day. It was, I believe, an optional day when she really didn’t have to be there, so the class was fairly sparse. The teacher had brought in Timbits for the few students that decided to attend that day. At one point my sister went up to get a Timbit from the box at the front. She overheard a snippet of conversation from a group of students nearby that had the word “hypotenuse” in it. Immediately she spun around and declared, “Or a LOWpotenuse!!!” Very loudly. The classroom went SILENT. Imagine crickets chirping. Quietly, my sister got a Timbit and returned to her seat.

So yes. Those are my stories.

and now, an ACTUAL update :P

So, for the past… well, half hour, I’ve been listening to the song “Lips of an Angel” by Hinder. I swear, it’s one of my favourites now. It’s just so nice. I love the lyrics. The guy who sings it sounds a hell of a lot like my Uncle Robert. Which is weird. But it’s fun to sing, and yeah, good song.

I only have one real problem with it. From the lyrics, you can tell that the guy is seriously in love with his ex, and his ex is pretty taken with him too. My question is: Why on earth did they break up in the first place? If they love each other so much now, what was so different then?

I hate that about this sort of thing. If you dated before and it didn’t work out, why do you expect it to be different now? If you’re not compatible, then you’re not compatible. It’s not rocket science. I don’t like that people think that “Oh, THIS time it’ll be different, THIS time I won’t do this, THIS time I’ll try to do that”. If you can somehow do it now, why couldn’t you do it then? Dating an ex is NEVER a good idea. Ever. Don’t try it.  It won’t work out. If it didn’t work then, it won’t work now.

a brief rant on musicals

If you know me, you know that I love musicals. They are awesome and I will always be a big fan. I want to be a star on Broadway someday. That’s how much I love musicals.

However, one of my biggest pet peeves is when people say that a  movie with music in it is a musical. Example: HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL.  High School Musical is NOT a musical. High School Musical is a movie with music in it. To be a musical, the production has to conform to just one rule. That’s all I ask. Before you go calling a movie a musical, ask yourself this: “Did it begin on stage?” Let me give you an example. Wicked. It is a musical, because it debuted on stage. High School Musical is not a musical because it began as a movie. Difference.

Now, I realize that you can use this logic to say that The Producers and Spamalot aren’t musicals, because they were movies first. Fair enough, but here is the difference. The original movies that those two were based on DID NOT HAVE MUSIC. The Producers was made in the sixties, I think, and as far as I know had no songs except in the musical-within-a-movie. Spamalot was based off of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”, and that had no songs. See? Point: proven!

It just bugs me so much when people say that High School Musical is their favourite musical. I want to stab them in the FACE. Because High School Musical is NOT a musical!!

Just had to say that. Sorry. Back to your lives, citizens

(By the way, if you guys have something to say to this post, feel free to start a heated debate in the comments, or even through email. I’d be so happy!)

a moment of ridiculous

I was on Myspace, and I saw this bulletin. It was a list of songs or whatever, and this one guy I think was trying to write “Thanks for the Memories”. But what he wrote was “Thnks fr th Mmrs”.

Is this the new Internet Slang? We just remove ALL THE VOWELS? I think I might try that.

“Hll. My nm s ng Mnty. Y klld my fthr. Prpr t d.”
“Stp syng tht!”

Can you really understand that? Wait, let me try again!

“H. My wy. Thnk y, Vzzn. … Whch wy’s my wy?”
“Pck p n f ths rcks, gt bhnd tht bldr. N fw mnts, th Mn n Blck wll cm rnnng rnd tht crnr. Th mnt hs HD cms nt vw, HT T WTH TH RCK!”
“… My wy’s nt vry sprtsmn-lk.”

Hmm… One more try.

“Nw s lng s y’r jst hngng thr, py ttntn. Th nly rls tht rlly mttr r ths. Wht mn cn d, nd wht mn cn’t d. Fr nstnc, y cn ccpt tht yr fthr ws prt nd gd mn, r y cn’t. Bt prt s n yr bld, by, s y’ll hv t sqre wth tht smdy. Nw m fr xmpl: cld lt y drwn. Bt cn’t sl ths shp nt Trtg ll by m nsy, svvy? S. Cn y sl ndr th cmmnd f prt… r cn y nt?”
“Trtg?”
“Trtg.”

Yeah, I’m just not getting it. To me, that looks like gibberish. Well, not really, since I know what it says. But to anyone else, that’s unrecognizable. It’s like wheel of fortune. You can’t put the consonants in first. That’s dumb! Always get the vowels in. Always. It works so much better that way. *sigh* Internet people are stupid.

Would you like the translations? I’ll give you the translations.

1.
“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
“Stop saying that!”

2.
“Oh. My way. Thank you, Vizzini. … Which way’s my way?”
“Pick up one of those rocks, get behind that boulder. In a few minutes, the Man in Black will come running around that corner. The minute his HEAD comes into view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!”
“… My way’s not very sportsman-like.”

3.
“Now as long as you’re just hanging there, pay attention. The only rules that really matter are these. What a man can do, and what a man can’t do. For instance, you can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man, or you can’t. But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you’ll have to square with that someday. Now me for example: I could let you drown. But I can’t sail this ship into Tortuga all by me onesy, savvy? So. Can you sail under the command of a pirate… or can you not?”
“Tortuga?”
“Tortuga.”