So school has totally eaten my life. I've talked to my parents maybe...three times since getting here at the beginning of August, when my siblings are such good little children and call every Sunday night, predictable as clockwork. But of course when I say that it's eaten my life, I mean that in the best way possible, because college is awesome. My school is middle-of-nowhere New York, so I've gone hiking on the trails nearby a bit, I've swum in the waterfall that's off in the woods(when it was warmer), and I've learned how to breathe fire. All of this is part of my learn-to-be-less-of-a-pansy mission. Honestly, my main motivation for learning firebreathing was that 20 years from now, at a reunion, people are going to come in with their trophy wives and their BMWs and talk about their jobs and then maybe they'll turn to me and ask what it is that I do. Maybe I'll work in an office, maybe I'll volunteer, maybe I'll do something vaguely interesting, but I'll tell them and follow it up with "--AND I CAN BREATHE FIRE." Automatically, right there, I've got a leg up on them, regardless of what I do with my life. And firebreathing is just overall awesome.

I've already woken up to my roommate trying to have quiet sex and failing (at 9:00 in the morning no less, WTF), experienced a few fire alarms resulting from burnt popcorn, and gotten unimaginably distracted by my next door neighbor, who wanders in every once in a while just to "see how things are going," which really means, "I'm going to distract you with talking now until you throw down your book in frustration"...you know, college things. A ton of people in my dorm have already had more than two significant others just in the time they've been here (my roommate's gone through three) and this just honestly boggles my mind. Of course, I have had one boyfriend in the course of my life, and not just like one serious boyfriend but some other hook-ups...I mean One. Boy. Ever. So I don't think I'm the best judge of the normal course of relationships, but college be crayzay.

But I'm loving the liberal arts thing. My next door neighbor (the distracting one) is a Star Trek fan, half my dorm loves Doctor Who, we're going to watch Battlestar Galactica together soon, and we all get along creepily well most of the time. I'm drowning in reading because I was smart and 3 of my 4 classes are Lit-based (and what I thought would be my easy 19th century brit lit course turns out to be giving the most reading of all of them) but I'm getting settled in just fine.

Street Anatomy just became my favorite website ever. I have a near-fetishistic love of anatomy, and combine it with street art/crafting/fine arts? I just died. Greatest day ever.

So after having been dead to the world for a couple of weeks, I return! I've finally gotten moved in at college and have been easing in to their combination orientation-and-first-year-workshop system, which basically means that I'm here for almost a month before the upperclassman arrive, taking their intensive writing/thinking classes which are basically "get your ass into gear and stop writing high school essays" classes. Which is difficult for me. My high school was so structured that I could pin down exactly how I was going to write my essay. Start with a sweeping generalization ("For years, writers have struggled with the issue of how to..."), then elaborate on this for a paragraph, leading into three body paragraphs which support and restate the thesis. End with a tiny little concluding paragraph, print, receive A. But suddenly, here, these essays are shit. What's more, I'm not the one with all the clever things to say in class anymore. It's definitely a shift, to say the least, and I basically spent the first week scared out of my mind and wishing I could go back to cozy little high school.
But now things are getting easier. I'm in a really small dorm, so we're all really close (if a little gossipy...I will never do anything without everybody knowing about it within an hour). When classes start I figure I'll start making a wider group of friends, but I'm sticking pretty close to my tiny little circle for now.

Dining hall hobby? Boosh food songs. Every day for lunch I get soup, since they have really good soup here, and I'm always walking out bobbing my head and mentally singing "Soup, soup, a tasty soup, soup, a spicy carrot and coriander..." And mornings alternate between pancakes and waffles, which means half the time I'm waking up to "Eggs, milk and flour, pancake power..." Little ways of bringing cheer to the mundane. Since embed is getting cranky on me, here and here.

Did the Beastie Boys Inadvertently Invent the Vulcan Nerve Pinch?

J.J. Abrams, what have you done?

I am now sporting probably the worst farmer's tan ever. I just got back from my awesome vacation split between Paris and Amsterdam, and I really wish I'd remembered to apply suntan lotion on a day-to-day basis just walking around. But as totally expected, it was uh-may-zing. We saw the Tour de France riders take their last laps around the Champs-Elysees, a feat only acheived by arriving at 8 am and standing in the sun for the next 8 hours to hold a spot pressed right against the guard rails. I also went to a bar (whoo hoo, drinking age of 16) with my brother for his birthday and accidentaly ordered a large White Russian. Considering that thus far my experience with alcohol has been limited to Jewish holidays, I'd say I did pretty well, even with a total girl drink. Besides, I was terrified of the genetics I was going to get on ability to hold alcohol, as my parents are practically teetotalers. The way I can tell if my mom has had a bad day at work is if there's a teeny-tiny orange juice glass half-full with white wine on the table when I come home, so I'm honestly relieved just to know I can hold one drink in me with only mild dizziness by its end. So Paris was gorgeous, I was incurably awkward with my inability to speak a word of French past "ou est la piscine" (curse you high school Spanish!), and I didn't get run over crossing madhouse streets.
Then we took a train to Amsterdam, which is a really cool city. It gets its reputation mostly for legalized marijuana and prostitution, so it's weird coming from a country like America that associates those things in true Puritan tradition with degeneration, decay, and the destruction of humanity to see a city that is cultured, forward-thinking, and a heck of a lot cleaner than 99% of American cities. The city was modern, with great old architecture, unbelievably clean (not a shady alleyway in sight), and totally had its shit together. Everybody rides bikes there. There are designated bike lanes right next to the sidewalks on every street, tons of bike racks, and even separate bike stoplights, so the streets are surprisingly empty. We took in a Mozart piano concerto on the same day we went to visit the red light district. It was amazing.
Now, however, I'm in frantic chicken-with-its-head-cut-off mode because I leave for college in just under a week. Packing, cleaning, organizing, saying goodbye to friends...Never quite enough time to just breathe. I think it's time for a bike ride.

Oh cruel gods, why do you torment me! I just found out that Leonard Nimoy is going to be a guest at the New England Sci-Fi Experience convention this November. My first reaction was "homigodomigodomigod" because at this point, I feel like if the entire original cast dies and I haven't met a single one of them, then...what am I doing with my life? But the devil's advocate here is the money. Shit's expensive. Just getting in in general is $40, and that doesn't even get you anywhere near Nimoy. You have to purchase the $60 additional Spock Pass, which will get you nosebleed seats in his Q&A, and either a photo-op with him or an autograph. Now, this is still a very tempting offer, because really, who wouldn't pay $100 to have Leonard Nimoy physically touch your body, even if it is just to put an arm around you for a photo-op. The greatness would be overwhelming. But the temptation comes in the larger packages...For a grand total of $140, you get better seating AND both autograph and photo; shelling out $240 gets you everything: first seating in his Q&A, front of the line for photos and an autograph, and a "special gift" (Congrats! Here's your very own Command beam-up badge! We know you've been going through 20 boxes of Rice Krispies for it, so...) I shall have to think on't.

Movies I Have Watched This Summer
-The Irrefutable Truth About Demons: Honestly, I only watched this movie because I heard from a reliable source that it involves Karl Urban beaten, abused, dog collared and hit on by transvestites, remaining mostly shirtless throughout. I was certainly not disappointed. Hot as hell. Apparently, the director meant it to be a little bit tongue-in-cheek funny, but uh...that totally went over my head. I watched it seriously the whole way through, and really kind of liked it by the end, but I think that was just because I started out with very low expectations. I can honestly say my favorite part comes near the end, and features Karl Urban coughing up a cockroach and then giggling in a totally childish "mommy mommy look what i just did" way. And I can not stress enough, KARL URBAN'S ASS makes an appearance. A slightly out-of-focus one, but it is there, and it is definitely humpin'.
-Lawrence of Arabia: Gets better and better every time. So, so great. And the bromance! The bromance!
-Brideshead Revisited: We own the DVD box set and I keep meaning to watch it, because my parents are huge fans. Add to that that I just saw the movie, and every single aspect that I mentioned not liking, my dad was like "Oh yeah, that's totally different in the mini-series." I've only watched the first two episodes, but it's awesome already. And I hate having everything in my life influenced by estrogen, but HNNNG Jeremy Irons circa 28 years ago. Hell, Jeremy Irons at any age, but listening to his voice is like rolling around in a swimming pool filled with honey. AND he recorded the audiobook for it, so guess what I'm listening to when I walk after I finish the Star Trek novelization.

Which reminds me, I should stop listening to the Star Trek audiobook when I'm walking down main roads. I got to the Delta Vega part this morning, and Zachary Quinto's monster noises are the funniest things I've ever heard. I had a vicegrip on my lip to keep from bursting out into a ridiculous grin and even then I probably looked stupid, walking down the street with cheeks puffed out and lips white from the pressure. Seriously, I would set that sound as my ringtone if I had any sort of skills in that area.

As a closing note, favorite article of the week. After seeing a million different "I secretly find this hot" secrets on FandomSecrets relating to a million separate Flight of the Conchords songs/moments, I found this article while idly googling. While a few individual points could be subject to debate (I always thought they actually had talent and originality...now I feel slightly ashamed of this belief), I think the main point is absolutely spot-on. Apparently, every single commenter on this article would completely disagree with me, but I think the role-reversal that is so frequently the meat of their jokes is precisely what makes a whooole lot of ladies (from personal internet experience) get secretly turned on by them. Just a few lines from "Sugarlumps," "We see you girls lookin' at our junk/Then checkin' out our rumps/Then back to our sugarlumps" gives us freedom, nay, an invitation to be lascivious and totally physical and objectify the male body, without feeling like that would earn us unwanted attention in return. And again, in "You Don't Have to Be A Prostitute," just a single 3-second scene of Jemaine pole-dancing with women at the peep show windows is a perfect example, because for once, the horny woman is not a joke. All the women in this scene, and in the whole video, look like mildly attractive, average women off the street, not the ugly, comedically aggressive, mannish woman that's so often in these roles. How many times is there an instance in TV, music videos, comedy, etc. of the male main character desperately pursuing the waifish, pretty, unrelentingly chaste blonde, only to be waylaid by the huge, hulking nympho woman? God, I feel like I'm on the road to a Gender Studies major. </srs bznz>

So at long last, I saw Revenge of the Fallen last night. About five people I knew went to the midnight premiere, but I am actually legitimately broke now, so I had to wait for people to want to go to the drive-in so it would be cheaper. But a couple bags of smartfood, some sweatshirts, and a minivan full of people, and we were ready to go. Now first off, I will say, the movie was better than I expected. This is because I was expecting to be cringing every single moment because the trailer looked so awful. So granted, this wasn't Hollywood gold, but once the robots came out, I was wetting myself as usual. I purposely didn't wear my Transformers shirt because I decided that was crossing a line I didn't need to cross, but I compensated quite well by bringing my Revoltech Starscream and a Transformers birthday hat, which I wore briefly, until I forgot I had it on and an employee asked if it was my birthday. But since the list format seems the best way to convey my disjointed movie thoughts. Obviously, spoilers ahead:

-First and foremost, I have to give a big What. The. Fuck. to Mudflap and Skids. I was in total disbelief for all those scenes. Apparently, none of my friends found it as disturbing as I did, but seriously? How did someone not stop Michael Bay from putting the two most racially offensive characters in his movie since Jar Jar Binks? And I think the nitpicking over The Princess and the Frog is absurd, but this is just blatant outright horror. I spent all of their scenes mentally screaming "WHYYYYYYY". "Uh...we don't really do much readin'." It was unbelievably unnecessary. You want to have some dynamic-duo comedic relief characters in there? Hmmm nobody I know of who could do that....Let me think...Oh, wait, SUNSTREAKER AND SIDESWIPE.

-I tried to stay away from any of the hype leading up to this movie so it would be a surprise, so Jetfire was a massive NERDGASM on my part. I had no clue he was going to be in it. Yes, they made him into a walking fart joke, but I was just glad to see him. I made the necessary "swings both ways" jokes to my friends on the way home. Also, where did he go during that fight scene? Was he just lying on the pyramid the whole time? I wanted the old man to come in there, guns a-blazing, right at the start.

-Wheelie? At first I was like "AWESOME LET'S MAKE HIM GUARD THE BASE" but he kind of tipped the balance on number of times things are humped in this movie. Really, needs to stop. I would have liked some rhyming in there, too, but I know I can't always have my way.

-Why are the Decepticons so drab? It seems like all the Autobots got pretty paint jobs and whatnot, but the Decepticons were just boring metal. It made it hard to tell them all apart, and honestly, it just looked lazy. I would have liked to see some color, but this could just segue into me whining about how they changed things from G1 and sounding like a total oldfag, which I am not by any stretch of the imagination.

-Unffffff Optimus. I was mentally humping the screen throughout every scene he was in. And in the big triumphant scene at the end where Jetfire rips out his spark (which was a minor WTF moment) and asskicking and badassery ensues, I was essentially vibrating with excitement.

-Anybody who really has a thing for robots doing humans is going to seriously dig this movie. Normally  my mind wouldn't have gone there, but having seen a few SamxBee communities in my time, Sam saying "You'll always be my first car, man. I love you." set off a few little alarm bells in my head. And some creepy line Megatron says after pinning Sam when he first comes back about it feeling so good to finally have a hold of his flesh again. I don't know, I was too buzzed on robots to remember coherently.

-This movie has left me so hungry for more Arcee. She got...what, 5 minutes in the opening sequence? Come on, those ladies was badass.

-I was so pissed off with Alice until she turned out to be a robot. I have yet to see a female character in these movies besides Sam's mom who is not a total firecrotch slut, so Alice was just another "oh..this again. I am so pissed off whenever you are on the screen" but when her face started dissolving into robot-parts, I came buckets. I knew I never should have watched the All Is Full of Love video at the tender age of 12. I swear, the robot fetish seed was planted early.

-I was a little bit "meehhh" on the Primes/Fallen storyline. Maybe I'm just grumpy, but I would have liked to see less of a re-work of the Prime lineage. It was honestly fine, I could see where they were goin', but even if they had kept their re-worked timeline and just called The Fallen Nemesis Prime instead, I would have pissed myself right there.

-I just read an article about the third Transformers movie, and they're thinking about doing Triple Changers?! Fuck yes! Unicron too? Less exciting somehow, but still, that would be awesome if they could for just 5 minutes decide "Fuck humans, let's take this war to outer space" and then we wouldn't have to waste time on all the humans being douchebags and hawks. Seriously, if you wanted to make this movie less unbelievably long, cutting out boring human whining would have been a damn good way to do it.

-Everything about this movie is tailored to a certain demographic. And I don't want to generalize, but really that's just something I say to make it OK because I really want to generalize right now. Every frame of this movie just drips blind, machismo patriotism. Men running around in the desert in camo, the Decepticons destroyed an American flag! Oh noes!, making fun of the French, the whole thing appeals to the lowest possible cultural denominator. Which, I suppose, is the way to make money off a movie with fighting robots, because it sure ain't gonna make money off that ever-so-large demographic of weird teenage girls who have a thing for robots. Too bad.

So good news. Any crush I once had on Matthew Macfadyen is completely and totally obliterated. My mom's been watching MI-5 on Netflix and just came down to tell me that she has a crush on him. My dad is now speaking in a bad British accent in an attempt to win back her heart.

And further good news, I'm getting a new laptop! First off, this is awesome in and of itself, if expected, since my dad gives/has given a (reasonably priced) computer of our choice to both my brother and sister, and now to me. So really, it's a goddamn free computer. Awesome. But the single biggest reason I'm losing-it excited over this? Privacy. Now, my dad is a computer programmer, and a good one at that. On the plus side, this means he can pick up computers from the junkyard and fix them up good as new so we haven't bought a new computer in years and they've never had a virus or hard-drive crash. On the negatives, he controls both shared computers with almost fascist anal retentiveness. Software installations are blocked because he doesn't like anything getting by without his approval, and approval is no guarantee. For instance, I can't open .rar's because he doesn't like WinRAR. All those little things that rebellious teens do to hide files? If you've got a passworded .zip that seems to have too much stuff in it, he'll probe. There are no separate log-ins, just "Default" and "Dadmin," obviously for his use only. This is the first online account I've had that (as far as I know) he hasn't tracked down, and that's only after rigorous gleaning of Internet Explorer histories for my screenname. My 4-gig flash drive is the best friend I have. Suffice it to say, I am really, really excited to get my own computer. Granted, regular check-ups will be provided by him, and I have to learn how to actually install things having never actually done it, but wheeeee. It's about as un-sexy as laptops can get, due to my dad's tech influence purchasing it from the division of Dell that sells to large corporations, but it's cherry red in an attempt to compensate, and I'm feelin' just fine about that. 
 
Also, deep thoughts on three hours of sleep: It would suck to be the best fanfiction writer in the world. Whenever you want to read really good fanfiction, nobody writes as well as you. Today, I spent almost 10 minutes at dinner feeling sorry for the best fanfiction writer in the world.

ETA: Even better news. We found a computer option that pleases us both; buying a snazzier model from the outlet so that it's cheaper, but this also means I get it in tangerine, which I very much like, and that it's coming from Dell's Studio line, which is fancier. My computer be stylin'!

You'll have to tolerate me because, 18 hours later, I'm still thinking in keymash. Yes, I went to see the Decemberists last night. Now in my life thus far, I've been to only two other concerts, both with my former boyfriend, which were so-so experiences, partially because at one I had mono and was packed into a 100-degree, standing-room-only basement for 3 hours and nearly passed out. But even if I had been in perfect health, in the best of company, etc. those concerts could not have held a freakin' candle to this one. AMAZING. That's the only word I can consistently use to try and describe it. Unbelievable.

( Cut for Rambling )

Ignore all previous entries about lymphatic vessels, that was a combination of too much Anatomy and female hormones. I've always prided myself on not getting bitchy or weepy when I get PMS (or controlling it with Vulcan-like restraint when I do), but instead it turns out I just get...weird. There was my lymphatic system freak-out, and then I spent about five minutes at my front door, scowling at a bee that wouldn't leave and composing a rap for it that involved how "bees be hatin' on me" and if they were so angry at me for knocking down their nest, they should learn to build a better one. I'm sorry, bees, I really am.

I will also use this opportunity to waggle my finger at my nearest Barnes & Noble, and express general distaste for things. So last night I got an award from the English department at my school, which they give to a handful of people every year for all-around English awesomeness (yes, yes, thank you, I know). Now this alone is pretty cool, as in all of my previous high school years, I have never won a single award, while all my high-acheiving friends sweep the board. BUT it came with a $15 B+N gift certificate! So I get excited, hop in my car this morning, and drive on out there with my list of books to read. Now this leads me to Thing I Dislike #3957: Jane Austen spin-offs/sequels. Pride and Prejudice was nice. Really. I've read it, and not just P&P&Zombies. It's cute, it's fun. BUT PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP WRITING SEQUELS TO IT. These bother me for so many reasons that I won't go in to here because I'll only be wasting space. So reason for my tangent is that I get in there, and there are about 20 of these P&P spin-offs with titles like Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, or somesuch bodice-ripping/schmaltzy nonsense. However, when I go to the Bronte area? One copy of Jane Eyre. A single copy of Our Mutual Friend, and not another scrap of Dickens in the place. Not a single book by Wilkie Collins or Anthony Trollope or D.H. Lawrence. One lonely, cold little Jude the Obscure huddled in the back, sandwiched between bubblegum fiction and chick lit. Is this what the fiction genre has truly become? Do they change around their stock for summer beach reads?

Now this is not to totally condemn any book not written more than 50 years ago. There are genuinely good modern books, and I'd certainly prefer that any given person read The Private Diary of Mr. Darcy rather than not read at all, but I've got to be my usual elitist, snobby self and shake my fist at the sky every once in a while. And the argument could definitely be made that I should read these books before condemning them, but honestly, Twilight wrung all that righteous desire out of me. I'm sorry, world. And to Barnes and Noble, I'll be making my gift card purchases online, thankyewverymuch.

Well, as predicted by almost every single fan ever, I've started watching Heroes now because of Star Trek. It's on Netflix Instant (which I STILL love, by the way) so I'm just toodling my way through season 1 now, enjoying the eyebrows and explosions.

Topic of note, I suppose: I'm done with high school! In a town of...what, maybe 8,000? You learn everybody's name pretty quick, so it's a little weird to think that the people I've spent 12 years with aren't going to be there every single day anymore, but mostly I'm just so relieved to be out of Anatomy. Working my ass off literally every single day of the past 5 months just to keep my grade at a B was definitely a valuable experience, but one that I am not too keen on repeating. Now I'm just lying around, sewing, watching TV, making food, going to graduation parties...I love it. I love summer.

I also came into posession of my graduation gift to me on Sunday. Word on the ontd_startrek comm was that the Burger King Star Trek glasses were selling out fast, and that the promotion was probably ending soon because they weren't getting any new shipments in. So I drove to one area BK, which said that sure enough, they were totally out and weren't getting more. So I freak out, drive about 2 miles on to the next one, and ask them. The manager there says that the promotion ends at the end of May (that day), so they weren't going to get more in, and he was pretty sure they were all out, but he would double-check for me. So after a little rifling around, he pulls out a big box from under the counter and goes "Oh, wait! We have a ton of them!" They had every single glass. AND I didn't have to buy a value meal with them. I bought all four glasses for a grand total of $7.23. Greatest. Gift. Ever. I've told myself they're going to be for a DVD-watching party to make myself feel less pitiful, but really...I just want to crow over my beloved glasses.

I've been dreaming a lot lately, but I've only been able to remember a few of them. Luckily (or unluckily) I remembered one I had last night...So I think this was from reading the ZQ-birthday-party-post last night before bed (happy barthday bb!) but I dreamt that he was coming to my house, so I went to wash my face, but when I looked in the mirror, I had bad 80s bangs, my face was really pale, and I had growths that looked most nearly like marshmallows on my forehead. In fact, in my dream, I thought to myself that they looked like sweet potato casserole. And I ate them. They were tasty, and then I woke up. I need to stop eating cookies before bed.

I'm violating my own post-per-day limit again because I just finished watching the adaptation of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and I finally know what love feels like. Seriously. This thing is great. I came for the Toby Stephens, but the second episode was hands-down the best. Rupert Graves as the protagonist's abusive, alcoholic husband absolutely steals the show and leaves ol' Toby in the dust. Graves knows how to hit every single scumbag button just right with a mixture of no class, misplaced horniness, and short tempers, but I didn't get annoyed with Helen like I do so often in abusive marriage stories in a "WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE" sort of way, because Arthur did show those glimmers; those few moments of sympathy and kindness, and even I found myself rationalizing it, like "Well, if she could just get him to quit drinking..." or "Maybe the baby will change things" and it was honestly scary to think like that.

But really, I can't gush enough about Graves' performance and the cinematography in this thing. In combination, they are unbelievable. The darkness in the shots with him is perfect; the way his teeth glint when he laughs and his eyes shine is downright demonic. Some scenes were so visceral and chilling, and it takes a lot to genuinely put me off in the sexual depravity department. One scene in particular in which Arthur nearly rapes a very pregnant Helen sticks out in my mind; his initial seduction of Helen, his descent into alcoholism and jealousy...it's all perfect. Granted, Anne Bronte probably did NOT write all the near-rape scenes in, and she certainly didn't describe Arthur licking Helen, but (in the opinion of someone who hasn't yet read the book) I think it completely adds to the overall awful vibe we get from Arthur. I can't recommend this enough.

But since I'm home alone this weekend again, that means talking to the television time. Yes, I've developed this habit. When nobody's around, I will talk to characters on the television. Arthur's a dick? He'll hear it from me first. Did Toby Stephens really deliver a baby goat on-screen? I'll ask him. Toby Stephens seriously fucked everything up at the end of the first episode? I don't hold back. And in doing this, I discovered that these men are both serious BOSSES. They don't take shit off nobody. So as a result...these were born. I...I couldn't stop
myself.



( 3 more... )

I wonder if I'm allowed to join ontd_startrek even if I don't get any dong...

I also realized that about a month or two ago, I posted my first five or so stitches on my first embroidery project, and I guess it's a little weird to post that and then never a final project, which I finished about a week later. So without further ado...

( Read more... )

I saw Star Trek for the third time last night, a fact which I am appropriately ashamed of, but in my defense it was at the drive-in, so half of it was so I could drag my friends to see Star Trek and half of it was so that they could drag me to Angels & Demons, the second movie showing. One of my non-Trekkie friends cried in the opening sequence, so I don't feel as bad for my own little break-down the first time I saw it. Angels & Demons wasn't half bad, but most of my fascination passed after they stopped talking about the Large Hadron Collider. I hide it as best I can, but I have a massive girlcrush on the LHC. Once they stopped talking about it, then it was just a fun actiony movie. But better than I thought it would be.

I'm officially coming in on my last week of high school, and it's still a little bit unreal. I'm so much into survival mode of just dealing with the day-to-day workload that I haven't even been stopping to look around and say "Hey, I'm out of here in not too long," so it's coming at me a bit suddenly. Still, I'm not too worried. Honestly, I won't be able to think straight until Thursday, when I'll be done with my Anatomy final and can finally do something other than schoolwork between the hours of 3:00 and 10:00. Half of this final happens to be a fetal pig dissection. Now, that sounds gross. It sounded gross at the beginning of the course, but my teacher took out a dissected pig that had been dipped in preservative to show us, and it was about 8 inches long, just a bag of flesh with a head and arms. So I was honestly excited going into the class to start the dissection. Well, it turns out that he ordered from a different company, so when I trip on over and peer over the edge of the formaldehyde tub, I see a FACE and two little feet poking out of the fluid. These pigs are BIG. They seriously look like they've been born. They're about a foot and a half long, with fur and spots and eyes and everything. I have to say, that first cut was tough. After that, the more cuts you make the less it looks like a pig, so it got fun after the first 15 mintues of girly freak out. After that, it was SO cool. All the guts and blood vessels and organs, that part was awesome.

Now this part of the entry is really more for my reference than anything else, so I'll put it under my new best friend, the Livejournal cut:
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Guguguguguhhh where to begin. In case you couldn't guess, I just got back from Star Trek. FAAABULOOOUUUS! But first of all, I could not believe the turnout at my theater. I went to the 7:00 show, the first one offered in the area, and got there at 6:00. I was the first one there. They hadn't even set up for a line. A total of approximately 13 people showed up. There was one other guy who came alone, and the rest of the audience was comprised of one single demographic: 14-16-year-olds and one or more of their parents. I couldn't tell if it was the kids dragging the parents, or the parents taking the kids. Still, suburbia, I am disappointed in you. And to think I almost dressed up for this. That would have been awkward. Anyway, since I need to practice using LJ cuts, I will warn you...SPOILERS AHEAD (Oh god I hope I do this right)

( Here be Spoilers... )

Coming in to the home stretch on the wait for the new Star Trek movie, and I'm close to exploding. I want to get into that nice sweaty theater packed with overlarge Trek fans as soon as is humanly possible.

To keep myself occupied in these last few difficult weeks, I've started playing games with myself in especially boring classes (U.S. Government, I'm looking at you). First was drawing Spock delivering his "The WOMEN!" line from The Cage/Menagerie episode in as many different ways as possible. I've got Asian Spock, weightlifting champion Spock, pimp Spock...you name it, it's on one of my class handouts. Next came reading all textbooks to myself in the voice of William Shatner, which turned out to do more harm than good because I didn't actually pay attention to what I read.

But my final game took a turn for the strange. I started picking songs to use as descriptors for fictional pairings, and then making up scenarios to go with the lyrics. It started out innocently enough, with a whole 'haha let's exercise our imaginations' fun-time. And then shit got weird. Long story short, incest, torture, and one particularly odd idea in which a sadistic phantom presence erotically asphyxiates Kirk and ends with Kirk becoming a ghost as well. Wat. I think I'm either simply getting annoyed with how many happy ending fics there are out there for Star Trek, or I just seriously dig psychology. Some girls like their heroes wounded so they can kiss their boo-boos fic-wise and hurt/comfort them into health again. I like my characters to start out a-OK and then get seriously fucked up.

This game also led to me discovering what is, in my humble opinion, the hottest pairing ever: Nurse Chapel/Yeoman Tamura (you know, hot Asian yeoman who gets the tricorder for one grand episode...A Taste of Armageddon, I think). Especially some sort of Dangerous Liaisons-esque malicious seduction on Nurse Chapel's part.

On an unrelated topic, the word of the week is "lady-wetness." Somebody over on Smart Bitches, Trashy Books had a review of some romance novel involving time travel to the middle ages and sex slavery, in which the author consistently uses the term to describe vaginas. And not just in pseudo-medieval dialogue, oh no. In the narration too. Goal: incorporate into conversation, expand erotic vocabulary.

Once, at the tender age of 14 or so, I stumbled across an archive of erotic celebrity fanfiction. Don't ask me how this happened, I was probably too curious for my own good when it came to the Internet, and I think I got about halfway through a story in which Angelina Jolie violently dominates a member of her extensive male harem when I called it quits. Since then, real people in fictional relationships has been a dead zone for me; there's no deep sense of moral outrage, there's just no desire to engage in anything related to enjoyment of it.

Until now.

It's no secret that the mention of Charlotte Bronte can send me frothing at the mouth with joy and leaping on people to ask them what their favorite book of hers is, but somehow I'd never managed to read her inscription on the second (I think) edition of Jane Eyre. She writes painfully well in her defense against criticisms, and ends by dedicating the book to William Makepeace Thackeray, after praising his writing extensively. Now at this I'm getting a little fuzzy feeling inside, a little 12-year-old me singing "Charlotte and William, sittin' in a tree..." (Now apparently, on further reading, this caused Thackeray a great deal of embarrassment because his wife was widely-known to be insane and kept in his home, and it was sent around that Currer Bell was his governess but that's beside the point). Still, it was kept at the back of my brain to be ocassionally googled in the hopes that SOMEBODY, even as a joke, had decided to write famous author fanfiction. But this little spark has been fanned into a full-on flame after I read "Charlotte Bronte's Last Sketch," written by Thackeray after her death, as an introduction to Emma, her unfinished manuscript. Now, part of me says, "Come on. You can't let two people enjoy each other's company and feel a deep attachment to each other without assuming they were romantically involved?" But the whole article is so heart-breaking...

"I saw her first just as I rose out of an illness from which I had never thought to recover. I remember the trembling little frame, the little hand, the great honest eyes...As one thinks of that life so noble, so lonely-of that passion for truth-of those nights and nights of eager study, swarming fancies, invention, depression, elation, prayer...As I read this little fragmentary sketch, I think of the rest. Is it? Where is it? Will not the leaf be turned some day and the story told?"

Ouch. Maybe this just hurts me more because there are very few reasons that I really hope there is a Heaven, and one of them is that Charlotte Bronte would be up there and would have enough time to finish Emma, but there you are. So in short, this is not just my OTP in the sense that most people use it of "omg i loev dis paring", this is my ONE..TRUE...PAIRING. I may have to break out my dusty old fanfiction-writin'-cap for this one.  Not that I'd ever actually put it anywhere, but just to be able to fall asleep at night and think to myself, "Today I wrote erotic fiction about two famous authors."

Also, amusing little story from my day. I was riding my bike around since the weather's so lovely here, and I gotta admit, I have a pretty freakin' sweet bike. It's in the retro style, and bright aqua, so I'm used to getting comments on it. So I'm riding it down a street that's being re-paved, but I have to go about 2 miles per hour because I can't go in the still-steaming road and there are construction workers swarming the sidewalk. Now, I live in a small, friendly town, so I'm used to greeting people I pass. In addition, I am also not accustomed to being hit on; utterly average and bookish-looking, and fresh out of the 'don't-go-there' age group to boot. As I'm nearing one of the construction guys, he smiles and says "Niiiice" weirdly. So I say "Oh, thanks!" really brightly and smile back, figuring he was talking about my bike. Only after I got home did I realize...I don't think he was talking about my bike. If ever I have had an FML moment, I think this was it.

ETA: For the record, I also think that Lucy Snowe and J. Alfred Prufrock are the perfect fictional couple. Both with crippling social anxiety, insecurity with the opposite sex, and for some reason I think Lucy's staunch Protestantism is a perfect match for Prufrock's...shall we say...lustful tendencies?

I would just like to start this off by saying that for the past four years, I thought that the actor who played Darcy in P&P with Keira Knightley was Matthew MacFayden. Maybe I was just trying to make it easier on myself to not figure out how to pronounce MacFadyen, but really, I've read his name a thousand times and it seems my brain just switched the letters. But this is related to my general post, because I have a weensy crush on him. More just like...I enjoy looking at him. And I was sort of "eh" about him in Pride & Prejudice (even without comparing him to Colin Firth) because he was pretty, but a bit milquetoast, making him my secret guilty pleasure eye candy. But now watching him in Little Dorrit on PBS...hnng. And it's odd, because outside of period dramas, when he's smiling, he's just sort of...average looking. OK. Not bad. But when he puts on the britches and that simpering, vaguely Adrian Brody sadface, it's like swoon is sold in a bottle and he's the primary manufacturer. That puts him down on the list of crushes that are dependent on characters. For example, I had an embarrassing love of Richard Armitage after seeing him in North & South, so I went to hear what he's like in real life...It turns out that out of costume, he wears his hair somewhat longer, has a disturbing proclivity for tight black t-shirts, and as a result reminds me at a deep visceral level of John Stamos. There goes that crush.

Plus, he's not even AMAZING in North & South; essentially, his expression never changes. My favorite scene is when he travels to Helstone, cue soft filter on the lens and aggressive greenery everywhere, picks a cheery yellow flower and sniffs it without changing expression from a pensive scowl. Not a twitch. Not even a nostril flare to indicate sniffing. Reminds me of the "H.P. Lovecraft would make this face while having sex" poster

Thinking of this, I've had a lot of weird celebrity crushes. In order:
-Matthew Broderick: I think he was my first celebrity crush. I must have been about 7. Strangely enough, I didn't develop this after watching Ferris Beuller. I started crushing on him after seeing him in The Music Man.
-Kevin from Backstreet Boys: The goatee had me from the start.
-Hayden Christensen: After seeing him in Star Wars, I was nuts about him. In spite of the lackluster dialogue ("Hold me like you did by the lake on Naboo"), my tiny, barely-pubescent hormones were riveted. I knew his birthday. I knew his current residence. I knew his favorite food. Luckily, I have forgotten all of these by now.
-Adrian Brody: Ironically, it's the nose. Saw him in The Pianist and, in spite of that so not being the point of the movie, I couldn't help but dig it.
-Matthew MacFaDYen and Richard Armitage: As mentioned above, purely character-based crushes.
-Toby Stephens: At the risk of overloading this list with actors I have seen in period pieces...eep, I do love him. Though I have to say, the love at first sight moment was only after watching Jane Eyre; I went on Youtube and watched the mess-ups that somebody had uploaded, one of which involves him having to ride down a hill and dismount his horse, only as he is in the process, his horse starts walking again and he's left clinging to the side in a half-straddle. If you turn up the sound you can hear him say "shit". It was pure poetry.

I've decided to limit this list to normal human men, as the list comprising the "Other" category might break the Internet.

Hopefully, since the Internet has not crumbled into a heap of twitching wires and tubes, this means that the Conficker worm has not unleashed its deadly wrath or, even better, perhaps was just an April Fools hoax? Either way, things are looking up for me, if not for the web. Work is no lighter, but I'm chugging through it with less teen angst than I previously was. I've got a game plan laid out for trying to get in off of the wait list, and though it's annoying that I may not know where I'm going to college until June 30th, at least I don't feel helpless anymore.

I'm about 100 pages into The Eyre Affair so far, and it's exactly what I needed after months of analyzing literature. Light on character development, shallow as anything, but Jasper Fforde definitely has his witty moments. In his vision of the alternate-present, the world lives and breathes by literature. Instead of Jehovah's Witnesses, people get Baconists coming to their doors claiming that Shakespeare didn't really write all those plays, and their meeting houses have been fire-bombed by the New Marlowists. When legal name changes came into fashion, people who took advantage of them were required to get identification tattoos after the legal case of a bar-fight in which the attacker, the victim, the barkeep, the landlord, the arresting officer and the judge were all named Alfred Tennyson. It doesn't try to be intellectual, though, and it accomplishes exactly what it means to, and has a bit of fun along the way. It's good to read for fun again.

On a concluding note, I hate to be a consumer whore (well actually I love it but wish I didn't) but...oh god. Star Trek perfumes are the next thing on the list of gimmicky merchandise. There's "Tiberius," with its tagline, "Boldly go," "Redshirt," "Because tomorrow may never come", and the only one in the line for the ladies, "Pon Farr." This is one of the reasons I wish I were male, because I'm not sure how I'd feel about wearing a perfume that suggests....Well, exactly what pon farr suggests. Plus, the design for the "Tiberius" box is so dashing.
http://trekmovie.com/2009/03/04/trek-spring-collection-preview-first-look-at-genki-star-trek-fragrances/

So at long last, two days ago, my new Decemberists CD arrived. I had broken down the night before and read two reviews, one of which said it was horrible, unartistic, and was going to seriously alienate their fans. The other hailed it as the resurrection of the album and the greatest thing the Decemberists had ever done. I was a little bit nervous, since I count on the Decemberists to be nothing but trustworthy; they've certainly carved out their niche, but it's a good one. But when both reviewers described the album as a rock opera? Borderline metal? That got me worried.

But anyway, got it, listened to it, liked it. It was good. It was different from their normal stuff, but it was still clearly Decemberists. I put it away and left it at that. Today, though, I listened to it again, and listened while I was painting rather than doing homework and distracted by other things. Wow. It seems like I do this a lot, but that's a great album. Every time I listen, it gets better. It's a frame narrative of sorts about a girl in love with a shape-shifting adopted son of the queen of the forest, and I have to say, I've never seen an album using music as foreshadowing. Everything intertwines, the plot moves along in true Decemberists reliability, and the guest vocals (especially Shara Worden) are gorgeous. Definitely an album that benefits from repeated listenings.
That being said, I'm not sure I'd call it revolutionary or the resurrection of the album. It sounds to me like the Decemberists picked up some electric guitars and did their usual awesome thing.

On a side note, I found out today that I got waitlisted at my top choice school. I was pretty bummed (actually, I was downright furious for a while) but it's just something that complicates things for a while now. I decided that it wouldn't ruin my weekend, so it won't. With AP English ending, I was so excited to read for my own enjoyment that I've decided to embark on a fluff fiction spree. I went out to the library today to get The Eyre Affair, and next on my list are whatever Star Trek novels I can dig up; perhaps Spock's World, perhaps Prime Directive...Whatever the library's got, I'll devour. I'm probably more excited over this than I've been over anything in a long time. Little pleasures.