Definitely 'shopped.

I hate friend-spam emails.
I'm not talking about the computer generated "SUPERS1ZE_YOUR BABYMAKER" ones (lord knows I love those...), I'm talking about the mass of forwarded mail you get from older relatives, really lonely coworkers, or friends that are actually losers. The FWD:RE:FW:: MUST READ!!!!! in the subject line is a pretty big giveaway. Usually they consist of either an obviously photoshopped image of something oMgCrAzY (bonsai kittens anyone? really?) or a heartwarming story that if you don't pass on to at least 10 people, you will never find love. Or happiness. Or that one sock you've been missing for a week. Hovering over my mom's shoulder (as I often do) and watching her go through an unending flow of friend-spam, I finally broke down and started ranting about how ridiculous and obnoxious these emails are- passing along warm&fuzzy stories or shocking images to what purpose? To make gullible old people worry even more about the evils of the world? To enlighten any one who might have needed justonemore Jesus story to finally believe? They're dumb, fake, and a waste of the reader's time and energy. I usually just delete them on the spot, and I suggested she do the same (srsly mom, trust me, I know what I'm talking about. I beat the internet. The end guy was hard.) I even decided to take it a step further, look one up, and prove they were lies.

...Unfortunately, I lose at life.
So uh, in case anyone was wondering, that basketball girl does actually exist. Oops. Now my mom thinks it's funny to say that everything she sees is "so obviously photoshopped" just to mock me. I'm living an xkcd comic, and a cosmically ironic one at that.

On the bright side, new Ratatatatatat! Huzzah!
Get ready kids- their album releases July 8. w00t.

PPS: Speaking of xkcd, who calls RULE 34 on that basketball girl, eh? Anyone? Anyone?

okimdonenow

THE MOAR YOU KNOW

DID YOU KNOW THAT...

In the movie Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal Lecter (aka Anthony Hopkins, aka God) does not blink one. Not once. The entire movie.
(Confirmation pending.)

Nicolas cage changed his last name to Cage from Coppola to distance himself from his uncle, the ... uhm.. pastry chef or something. Has any one even heard the last name Coppola before?
(Mmmmm pastry)

King Kong was first movie ever to have a sequel. It was released later that year. (And we're going to pretend like that was the end of it...)

NOW YOU KNOW!

I feel so complete now. Thanks movie trivia!

@home

This weekend was surprisingly productive. I washed two SUV's that looked like they'd gone on fucking safaris (geezus, how do you even see through the windshield, ma?), I babysat my little sister for a good two days straight (which means free movie and free ice cream, SCORE!) aaaaaaand last but not least I was finally able to escape Rice's facist inturweb lockdown on torrent sites! New music means new obsessions means new yummy links! I love the transitive property! (Math is delicious!)

Currently obsessing over: Justice (songs, covers, and remixes), Electrosound, and Ed Banger Volumes I and II.


The movie I ended up watching with my little sis was Horton Hears a Who, which ended up being FUCKING AMAZING. Granted, there is a certain possibility that hanging out with my sister the whole day caused me to regress into an 8year old again, but regardless, with a line-up of Jim Carrey, Steve Carrell, and Seth Rogen how can you go wrong? (Hint: You can't) I'm honestly surprised that I haven't heard more about it. It was cute, insightful, warm&fuzzy, well animated, well put together. I laughed, I cried. The whole bit. Go see it!


Whoa, six exclamation points in one post... who am I?

I read it for teh lulz

Currently obsessed with: Encyclopaedia Dramatica
Some argue that ED is offensive, immature and in bad taste.
Maybe it is. But don't worry, the writers only do it for irony's sake, and there are over 9000 rules they have to follow when posting to make sure everything is valid and relevant.
On the bright side, it provides valuable insight into one of the internet's less civilized subcultures.

...moar liek valJEWble insight, amirite?


And check out this badass mash-up:

Bastard pop is glorious.

I have a new toilet friend. His name is Friedrich.

It's pretty sad when you realize that the highlight of your day came from the bathroom.
Then again, I bet it happens more often than people will admit.

In other exciting news: Brendan Canning is stuck in my head.
Unfortunately for him, there is no exit! bwahahaha. get it? okayimdonenow.

Maybe if my T-shirt is hip enough, people will overlook my glaring personality flaws.

So I know that Radiohead can no longer be considered indie since more than five people have heard of them (a downfall that can be attributed partly to Starbucks for having the audacity to play "In Rainbows" and partly to the fact that oh, I don't know, some people like their music.) However, regardless of the current status of Radiohead's music on the indie-o-meter, I have faith that their concert tees would score somewhere above Vonnegut and thick-rimmed glasses (but slightly below pretentious smirks and artsy coffeeshops.) Why, you ask? Do you think you are ready for this?
These shirts are made from certified organic cotton and 100% certified... recycled plastic bottles. Yes. Plastic bottles. This is to reduce air water and soil contamination, reduce use of energy and oil, reduce pollution et cetera et cetera. I've heard rumors they also reduce the levels of carbon in the atmosphere and the levels of ignorance of the general populace. Basically, every time you buy one of these shirts, God masturbates. Ohsnap American Apparel, you have officially been out-hipstered!

There were 6 or so different shirts, all screened with thoughful, emo-tinged lyrics:
"you're going to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking"
"i am trapped in this body and can't get out"
"you used to be alright, what happened"
(with assortment of backslashes, underscores, and unnecessary spaces scattered throughout, of course.)

So there you go. It's save the environment meets no one understands me. Hippie, meet hipster. A whole new brand of indiefuck. Even if people think Radiohead is overrated, hell, at least they are making quality look-at-me-I-saved-the-planet-AND-appreciate-good-
music-(please-love-me!) tee shirts. AND get this genius: the back of the shirt has the lyrics printed in reverse so you can wear it inside-out to let everyone see the tag and still be able to read it (thankgod!) The printed tag goes into a detailed discussion of how the plastic is turned into clothing fibres, chemical processes and all. Whoa- environmentally friendly, lyrically introspective, AND scientific? Wearing this shirt increases my coolness level to OVER NINE THOUSAND!* But seriously, they are pretty damn cool.


Now that you know how awesome and enlightened my shirt is, I'm sure it justifies my current obsession with the song it references. It's as if the thought was taken straight out of my mouth and plastered onto a recycled plastic/organic cotton canvas.
ha-HA. Figurative word vomit.
But seriously, it speaks to me.


*Admittedly there is a good bit of hypocrisy in mocking the very T-shirt I paid 40 bucks for. But I'm ignoring that for now. It was a fucking Radiohead concert, okay? Honestly, if they had been selling severed kitten heads with song lyrics seared into them I would have bought one.
Or two, depending on the songs chosen.

Experiments in Consciousness Expansion Pt3

The light show was phenomenal. The music was epic.
My mind, she is blown.
Than/ks Radio hea_d

9hr weeknd wrkdayz are teh sux0rz

Moved all of my stuff to Jones yesterday. You don't realize how much shit you've accumulated over the school year until you have 3.5 hours to pack it all up and ship it across campus. After awhile you stop sorting and just throw everything into boxes and bags. I think the stress caused me to go temporarily insane- maniacal laughter included. As if Meesh wasn't scared enough of living with me. It's really exciting to be in a new room though, I actually get a window this time.

I'm going to take back everything I said in my Baseball post from last Sunday. Sitting at work hovered over a small, animated field muttering to myself made me realize there might be more to my obsession than the atmosphere of Reckling Park. I just told my co-workers the outbursts of emotion were reactions to the clock. (OHFUCKYES!.... ahem... only 37 minutes till five, guys!) I think deep down I've finally realized that cheering on a winning team is the only thing that makes waking up every morning worth my while.

In other news, politicians are using fear? In con ceivable. I don't know why, but all of a sudden I'm starting to get really bored with this campaign. Bad choice of words... disillusioned maybe? tired? Whatever. Maybe Hunter S. Thompson's '76 insight will cure my nihilistic cynicism. Maybe it will just remind me that I need to do more drugs.

I'm bored so...

It's time for a summer fling.
Any takers?

mmm rain

It was well calculated. The rain didn't start until I was exactly past the midpoint of my twenty-minute trek to Jamba Juice this morning. But as expected, the peach-mango-orange fruit blend was well worth getting drenched. The whole thing just ended up reminding me how much I love walking in the rain. Once you secure any books or electronic devices in your pockets/purse, it's absolutely glorious. Someone once told me that the reason people like showers so much (because they want to be clean? because they touch themselves?) is from the negative ions dispersed by the constant stream of water above your head. I guess this could apply to rain too, but regardless of the reasoning, I love it (along with every other five year old in the world.)
Unfortunately the euphoria only lasts until you get home. Then you realize you're wet, cold, and you have dirt encrusted on the back of your legs from splashing in puddles.

I bet this will come in handy somewhere along the line when I'm looking for a metaphor about experiences that are only good until they're over. You're having the time of your life and suddenly you stop, look around and immediately wonder what the hell you were thinking. As soon as it becomes a memory, it's a regret. Why couldn't I have just taken the bus?!

Gee, if only I could think of a life experience that corresponds...

Who knew?

On principle, I utterly despise the Brochstein Pavilion. It stole precious minutes off of our walks to class everyday for being so goddamned in the way of everything for months. It steals business from the student-run coffee house. I bet it plans on stealing something else we hold dear just because it can. What a corporate whore. Don't get too cocky yet, Mr. Pavilion, we can see straight through your nefarious plans (badumCHING). The only reason I sit outside at the tables every morning is because it's the midpoint between my dorm and work (I measured it). Not because I enjoy the peaceful environment created around its perimeter. I don't even like the mock shade they offer under the charming futuristic awning. I definitely don't like cute little grove or the accompanying mysterious fountains. If anyone sees me sitting there sipping a cool drink (which I bought somewhere else of course) enjoying the weather and reading a book, I hope you will have the decency to come over save me from the torture of being in that horrid pavilion's presence.

Genius thought of the day: someone should invent waterproof books so you can read outside when it's raining and not worry about damaging them. Genius afterthought of the day: there are many glaring reasons why I should never go into business marketing.

Funny story. There was a possum waddling around the pavilion today. It did approxiamately two laps to the amusement/shock/horror of those inside before disappearing off into nearby hedges. It was really eerie to see a possum so oblivious to people and daylight. The only possible explanation: it was a mutant. Probably sent by the government.


Currently listening to: Time to Pretend- MGMT

Experiments in Consciousness Expansion Pt2

Currently Listening to: Chemical Brothers + Justice + Mars Volta's new album on shuffle
Currenty Reading: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas... again

It's interesting to note the different things you take out of books when you reread them. Maybe the first time you fall in love with the themes, funny quotes and dark satirical jabs at politics and society. But the second time you find yourself fixating more on how the author is someone you see yourself falling hopelessly in love with but never taking seriously. Or discovering how much you've personally changed in the way you interpret novels since high school. Or pondering the chemical basis for induced paranoid schizophrenia. Or thinking about what would you would do if you happened to acquire human pineal gland. And for that matter, what would Jesus do?

I think I'm in love with Jason's Deli. Their half-sandwich half-salad (aka stuff-a-togo-box-with-as-much-food-as-you-physically-can) is amazing. Oh yeah, and did I mention the FREE ICE CREAM CONE?

Did anyone else note that I fell in love three times in this note?
Is my subconscious pushy or what?

Currently reading: Requiem for a Dream

I'd seen the movie before. What's not to like? Sex, Drugs, and Jared Leto. But even though the movie was an artistic masterpiece, that's all it was to me- a work of art. The book on the other hand... jesus. Hubert Selby completely sucks you into their world. When they are laughing at life, I found myself outwardly smiling. Even though you never honestly believe things will end happily (because we all know how it ends... if you don't then spoiler alert: Jesus dies on the cross. I know, who would have seen that coming?) you still get caught up in their excitement. You can feel their denial of harsh reality as vividly as if it were your own. And believe me, when they are on drugs, you are on drugs. The whole story becomes so disturbingly real... it's surreal. And then there is the last chapter, which is more than mildly traumatic. I don't know if I've ever read a more emotionally moving piece of literature. I couldn't move. Just ask my roommate, I was physically unable to smile for a good half hour.

I wonder if people like depressing stories because we are so utterly convinced that we can't possibly end up like that. Well I'll be the first to admit I have addictions I'm not proud of, but I know that I will never let it get that much out of hand. And that's the whole point, isn't it?
So. fucking. good.

Because I'm obsessed with Seeqpod:

Stuff White People Like #134:

BASEBALL.
(so maybe it isn't on the website yet, but you know it should be)

The last on-campus Rice Baseball game was today and as expected, it was amazing. Not just because we won (but since you asked, yes, we did slaughter UofH 12-6),
there is something so undeniably refreshing about going to baseball games. Maybe it's contagious excitement of the rabid fans. Maybe it's because I'm cheering on people that I actually know in real life (as opposed just during the games, which are obviously a part of an alternate reality) Maybe it's the way the bright green field contrasts the immaculately white (and deliciously tight) uniforms. Maybe it's the resonating sound the ball makes when it hits the catcher's glove justright. I mean, I played t-ball, so I can feign some general knowledge and affinity for the game itself, but I know that my obsession with Rice Baseball games goes much deeper than that. I'm addicted to the whole experience.

On a slightly unrelated note, I think the same goes cigarettes, which I have conditioned myself to associate with pauses in homework spent sitting outside and listening to the rustle of leaves from my balcony. Or even my addiction to running the outer loop. God knows I'm don't actually like running, it's just the 30 minute brain-off, upbeatmusic-on break from life that I get to pass surrounded by the outer-loop's gorgeous live oaks. I'm addicted to environment.

Hm. Or maybe it's the nicotine, dumbass.

Warning: fMRI may cause existential rambling

Days of whoring myself out to researchers for psych credit are over. Now I do it for money and pictures of my brain!

This really is the coolest thing I've seen all year. After staring at the looping video they gave me for a good five minutes straight, it finally starts to sink in. This is physical evidence that I am a biochemical machine. Whoa. That is me. It is that crumpled mass of tissue that makes me who I am. My thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams and inability to write out thoughts without gruesomely running on sentences are all just action potentials and chemical imbalances being pumped in that gray lump of a factory. I don't know if I'm alone when I say that I tend to picture consciousness as a thick fog swirling around an otherwise hollow skull. Occasionally there is a disembodied voice floating through it, but you get the idea. It's easy to imagine our lungs as lungs, and our stomachs as stomachs, but I never really think about the fact that there is an organ throwing around electrical signals to make me think and act the way I do.
That just blows my mind.

I also never realized how hard it is it to write about consciousness without using at least one figurative representation (mental picture, blows the mind, etc).
Try wrapping your mind around that.

Call it a ritual. Call it whatever you will.

Oh, summertime.
Time to sit outside. Time to read. Time to rediscover the self.
Which means, time to start a new blog, of course.
As if each seperate webpage has to reflect the transient state of the soul that spills upon it.
How long till I outgrow this shell?

New room too.Summer, bring it on.

Currently listening to: Wolf Parade, Les Savy Fav, and My Morning Jacket on shuffle