Forget Personal Preferences. You Should Prefer My Preferences

Adaptation is a gift from the cinematic gods. I do not care if you do not care for art films. Even if you do not understand it, the movie is undeniably funny. You may not laugh. You may not even smile inwardly. You do not need to. Do not trust your own sense of humour. Trust mine. Adaptation is the bomb.

Who Wants to Be a Tool of the Patriarchal System?

Much to my chagrin, I have been watching Super Millionaire with my parents the past few days. While I do not particularly enjoy the show, or Regis Philbin, I do feel that it is necessary to comment on one of the new lifelines offered to contestants. The three wise men lifeline is a ridiculous attempt at political correctness and gender equality. Why would an internationally famous television program use a term that could be construed as connoting gender inequality and representing a bias in favour judeo-christian mythology and religious practice? To make matters worse, the powers that be have decided, probably in an effort to quell feminist criticism, to include one woman in the set of three wise men. Are these women not really women? Is it impossible for wisdom and femininity or womanhood to be reconciled? Is it legal to have women filling a role created for a man? The show is doing a poor job of covering up its oversight. Regis Philbin often fumbles through his introduction of the three wise men, calling them the three wise people or the two wise men and one wise women. Please note: the poor grammar in the previous phrase was not a personal oversight, but an example of Regis Philbin's inadequacy, copied verbatim. I sometimes wonder if quality of life is really much worse than it actually seems, even to someone who tries to keep her or himself educated on the reality of life in the United States. I assume that there are certain standards in the United States the are always upheld, but apparently Americans are not domestically demanding the rights that they seem to be so eager to impose upon others.

Though completely off topic, I would like to say that I quite enjoy the titles you have started using. Very fancy.

Starving

My brother once said that he couldn't imagine ever being full again if he became a vegetarian. My state of constant hunger over the past three days has led me to believe that my two plus years of herbivorousness have finally caught up with me. Possible solutions: 1)Eat a lot; 2)Stop being a vegetarian; 3)Practice some mind-over-matter meditation and transcend my hunger. Problems with proposed solutions: 1)I am eating a lot. I will probably run out of money with which to buy food before I run out of hunger; 2)I've tried that one. The transition back to the world of meat is too morally and physically painful. Plus it would make my parents happy; 3)Tried that too. No I'm lying. But I'm convinced it wouldn't work because my deep thoughts would be interrupted by my stomachs deep growls.

A Sinking Suspicion

I may or may not be smarter than I actually think I am. Vague, I know. I find myself in the middle of the semester, doing virtually no work. I honestly have not read any of my textbooks this semester. I don't know if I can get away with this or not. I got away with it unbelievably well last year, but I still doubt my ability to lie through my teeth to get a grade. One of these days my professors are bound to realize that I'm a total dunderhead. Until then I guess I'll just continue to set myself up for failure. Whatever works, right?

And Done!

If you will please take note of the new link under the Blog section of my sidebar, you will find a certain aforementioned list of MSN names. Well it's not really a list as of yet. Just one name really. Shh! It's too late for semantics!

In The Works

An acquaintance of mine made a brilliant suggestion today. Coming soon to an underground near you: a list of my msn monickers. I happen to find them quite humourous. If you don't, well, go away. That's right. Go away. You don't have to read this if it fails to amuse you. It can just be here, annoying you with it's unamusing existence. And I'll be sitting here in my twenty dollar computer chair mocking your frustration. On that note, if you can remember any of my msn names feel free to remind me of them. Thanks! You're swell!

We've changed - as much as I hate to admit it - as a often suffer from Peter Pan syndrome.... revel in the brief periods that I don't. But I definitely know what you mean. Over the past few years, I have become less in awe of my parents, and they now seem more like people with their own problems than people who know what to do all the time - because as some of you know - they have their fair share of problems. I figure this transition of how we see our parents comes for everyone. And for some people this transition comes easier than for others. (I like to imagine that the children of 'perfect parents' which mine were not, (they were lovely, but not perfect), have a harder time accepting this.... but I don't really know). All that to say - la vie est fluide. Elle change avec le vent, tourbillant dans le vaste univers.... mher.

A Return to the Norm

Every day things seem to change a little so nothing can quite work the way it used to. My eyes are doomed to a life of disfunction. I'll probably never stay with my parents for a period of more than three weeks again. I'll never stay up until three in the morning lying on my bedroom floor talking about nothing at all with my brother. I'll never even sleep in that bedroom again. Can anything ever really be the same, or is it just the details that change? Take my relationship with my father for example. I've always been much closer to my father than I am to my mother. While I still share a close relationship with him, I no longer forgive him as easily as I used to. As I've grown older and gained more distance from my father, I've become increasingly aware of his flaws and am more critical of and apt to scrutinize his actions. Despite this change in my regard for my father, I still love him. So what exactly is it that changes? Will things ever go back to the way they used to be, or have they not really changed very much to begin with?

A Note From the Editor

I've taken the liberty of making some slight alterations to Raja's entry. First, if you click on the address listed below, it'll actually take you to his live journal. Keep in mind that I use the term live loosely. It's more like recorded before a live audience consisting of the voices in Raja's head and then occasionally posted for kicks. Second, despite Raja's claims, this link will not actually take you the song; thus, I have added another link that will actually take you to the song. Or, if your name is Brain and you're a cartoon character from the early 90s, it'll take you to the technodrome. Whatever your particular destination might be, just click on the word song in the entry below and you'll get there. Unfortunately, if your name is Brain and you are a cartoon character from the early 90s, you'll just have to find your way to the song on your own. On a more personal note: evidently I suffered an unacknowledged period of withdrawal during my prolonged absence, and am now going a little blog crazy. Oh well, I'm reveling. Don't try to stop me.

Ahem. Consider Raja Chahal, Solo artist of former Miles Away fame.
Check out his latest song, everyone, at his site:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/funkiestjoe/
Shameless plug!!
I miss you Sarah. Let's play croquet sometime.

The End of An Era

I've come to a moment in my life that, despite it's gradual arrival, is so unexpected and deeply affecting that for once I feel it is necessary to write in unabstract terms about something taken directly from my real life. I am over Third Eye Blind. I never thought it would happen. For seven years this band was unequivocally the shit of my existence. The first album was, and remains, my first quasi-emo love. Blue was a masterful construction of experimentation and beautiful, beautiful music. If this band has been the shit, though, Out of the Vein was just shit. Oh well, I never said they were cool, just that I loved them. And so, while I will always keep a place in my heart for that which was my first musical love all of my own, I am no longer a one band girl. Please submit applications to become my new favourite band to C/My Documents/My Music.

My whereabouts are as yet undetermined. I find that generally every time I make a significant decision I feel an urge to backpedal. I wonder if I tried to go back to the womb when I was born?

Yes, and soon you will be away again. You come you go back you come you go back. So hard to keep track of - like an ected electron with just enough energy to jump back down to the ground state before being bombarded with the right frequency to reabsorb and go back up to a higher valence level. You crazy electron!
P.S. Yeah for jobbyness!

I have been away for quite some time now. That statement is rather misleading. I have not physically been away, as my blog exists within the realms of cyberspace, and my computer, from which I have not been away for any extended period of time, is my portal of access to said realms. I have not mentally been away, as I have been thinking of my blog, of things I might write in my blog, of who might be reading my blog and wondering why the underground seems so vacant. I have not been emotionally away from my blog, as I have been thinking, as I habitually do, of the matters which I normally address, directly or not, in my blog. So really I haven't been away at all; I just have not made my presence known.

And I'm not sure souls have a form per se, and so couldn't really break or explode in the first place let alone be reconstructed. That is, if "they" exist at all.

I thought you sold your soul to one of those intelligent raisins...

What's making your soul explode?

If my soul were to explode while my body was constricting due to atmospheric pressure, would my soul be pushed back together, possibly reconstructed through a synthesis of physical pressure?

I'm here, and in fine condition I might add. Les Méduses thought they could get the best of me but they were sorely mistaken. I am a little sorely stung, but their moral and physical soreness is more than enough to take my mind off the pain.