My hindrances

Every so often I spend aimless hours looking at my hindrances. You might call these part of my "identity" but I tend to call them hindrances and disadvantages because sadly that's all they are for me. Most of the time. You'll hear me list just a few out every now and then.

I'm black, lesbian, female, atheist, chubby *cough*, short, flat footed (don't laugh, buying shoes sucks for me), kinky haired, and probably a switch (I likes to hit and be hit), probably bipolar (runs in the family, I've not been officially diagnosed though so the jury's out).

A couple of those not too bad, a couple of them probably don't even matter in the scheme of things (don't laugh at my flat feet dude). Why are they hindrances? Because most of them eventually cancel each other out and make it quite hard to get along in life.

Let's take the first three. I'm a girl, putting me at a slight disadvantage in society compared to my male counterparts. I'm a black woman putting me even FURTHER down the ladder and effectively dismissing any issues I may have as either. I'm a black lesbian which gives me a small support group, then I'm an atheist which just sort of strips that support group.

Chubby, well, I'm constantly being told to put the fork down. Short & chubby = morbidly obese despite the fact that I'm pretty healthy according to my doctors, it also means I have to use chairs to get shit out my pantry and that makes me feel inadequate. Having flat feet makes buying shoes a pain. Natural hair makes me ugly to both whites and blacks alike. My sexuality makes me a freak, my potential bipolarness makes me either a faker or a crazy bitch. Or a slut, I forget now.

Stereotypes, they follow me around. I can't do much to shed any of these hindrances no matter how much I wish it some days. I've yet been able to live with most of them and don't know if I will, because whenever I think me and my hindrances are going to settle down together something just stirs up old wounds. I take things to heart and I must call them out to make peace with myself, do you understand?

Except I can't make peace with myself, so what's the point? Do I float in the subspace between my so called identity and what I'm supposed to be? Do I suffer endlessly, painlessly, internally? Or do I do nothing at all? That's the next step after finding out who you are, no matter how many "whos" there are, sadly a lot of the time there are no answers and even more often no one to fully guide you.

I've yet to find my doppleganger (although I've been told I would die if I did), someone like me I can relate to and call upon when I'm stranded with the she-wolves and the lionesses. But maybe someday if I keep trying, if I ever manage to pull myselves together.

What does it take to make you disbelieve?

So in a random convo we were having about atheism, Danz mentions he's basically three steps from atheism (which is weird because we've called him everything from pentecostal to jewish). He also warned me that he'd never join the dark side so I can put the cookies away *sad*

I'm not sure what he is but it seems at the very least he's in the humanist realm, probably agnostic like fecking everyone. I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually if he chooses. When I asked why I couldn't convince him to join the Sith--I mean atheist legions, he said something along the lines of he didn't want to disbelieve.

Me, lacking that "belief gene", am all too willing to disbelieve but I cannot nor have I ever been able to believe. In fact, I think everyone should join the Sith and destroy the republic, and perhaps it'll happen some day, maybe it won't. I hate people who want to play Pascal's Wager, like a lot dude.

But, that's always been the curious thing, to me, about agnostics and people who are generally non-believers but aren't quite atheist (yeah it can happen).

What would it take to make you disbelieve in a deity?

Not to try to sway folks to my own side, but I've always been curious. Again, I don't think there's every been a point in my life where I've truly believed in a god of any sort so it's always puzzled me. Religions puzzle me--why is this one right and this one not? How is it possible that such and such created the universe but never makes himself known? How have these beliefs been held for centuries?

I mean, I have my theories, since as an atheist it's my unofficial job to spend my every waking, and some sleeping, hours pondering about theology *canned laughter* but I've never really gotten a solid answer on what it would take to make a believer disbelieve.

I've seen it happen. I've seen evangelical Christians suddenly turn over to atheism and preach the gospel of godlessness for various reasons or another, usually something involving utter disgust with religion. But you can believe in a god without actually belonging to a religion so, what keeps that belief going I wonder?

On the other hand, I also wonder what makes staunch atheists suddenly start praising almighty _______. I've seen that happen a lot too and it's always kinda...weird.

I think my best bet is, in both cases, you were probably never really atheist or religious to begin with and whatever property in you was just...latent, then at some point you finally felt brave enough to embrace it. But is that really it? Huh.

What makes a Xands?

I was having one of those shower thoughts a while back and reflecting on the pen name I've been going under for a while now--that'd be me, Xands. I've gone under a number of things which is why I'm so elusive on the net, but for some reason any variation of Xands/Xanthe (which is greek for yellow, I just like it, no deep meaning there) seems to stick.

So you probably haven't troubled yourself to read, I believe, my very post on this blog (and I wouldn't) in which I explain my name because I get asked about it a good deal. What, exactly, is a Xands, besides a me?

Well, let me tell you and this will probably make it easier to spot me hatin' on youtube or your blog or something. I realized why this particular name has stuck so well is because every word of it has a real, sort of personal meaning to me.

Get ready, it's going to get dizzying.

TR Xands - the TR is really just to separate me from those other Xandses, I know you've met like 10

T- Tiziano-> Titian, as in the painter whom I've admired-> Titus, a latin praenomen, a title of honor

R- Renatus, meaning rebirth

Xands (it's actually khsands, I know you've been saying it wrong) - Alexandros -> Alexander, defending men

Got all that?

So, what's the significance of any of that? Well, to take it from the top, I really admired Titian's bold, dramatic, colorful works when I was going through my Renaissance Art Is The Shit 4eva phase really badly, so when I started crafting this Latin-ish name for myself, I started with that. Titian isn't Latin, it's the English translation of his real name, Tiziano, which so happens to be the Italian form of Titus. Excellent!

Following the Roman naming convention, I chose a second name. Renatus seemed to work out well, again, Renaissance influence and it's meaning.

Alexandros (I hardly ever go by AlexandER) was a little tricky and I'm not totally sure why I chose it. In this case, "defending men" is just that, but I take it as more "defending MAN" as in mankind. It's a little unfortunate now but it still works.

"Xands, you hate people...?" Well thanks for reminding me spoilsport, but I think, what I want to do most in life, and what I can do, in any way, is to help. I do not necessarily want my name all over the history books but let's say I don't want to die with a bitter cry or a whimper. If I should get hit by a car tomorrow trying to cross the street, as I'm often nearly wont to do, I would like to leave some tiny impact that isn't wholly negative. I want to help other people, maybe indirectly maybe directly, because I feel like it helps me. I want to be that defense.

...I mean, I do want gold and glory and shit, but the above will do okay too, especially considering the whole hit by a car scenario. See, am I the only one that ponders that like regularly?

In any case, there you go, now I've taken away the mystique yet again! I go by Xands or TR, mostly now, because it's usually more gender neutral and it's really short. No shit, for the longest time I went by Renatus Alexandros entirely because it was awesome, but you don't have to worry about that babehs.

And if you doubt me dog, you betta out me dog

I'm throw'd off slightly, brah

Oh I see they're still trying to out Queen Latifah. I think I saw this story a while ago but since I'm on a roll with sadness why not. I can't depress myself much more this week--wait.

QUEEN LATIFAH THREATENED THROUGH TABLOIDS

So a make-up artist and a stylist are suing Queen Latifah claiming she owes them $1 million dollars combined. Roxanna Floyd says she’s owed $700,000 on work done between July 2005 and February 2008.

Stylist Susan Moses says she was cheated out of $300,000 during that same period. While the lawsuit has yet to go to court, it’s already spilling over into the gossip pages.

Apparently the two are threatening to go public about Queen Latifah’s private life if they don’t get their cash.

Lawyers for the two told the National Enquirer, “Whether Latifah is gay or straight has absolutely nothing to do with our clients claims,” though they added that “Latifah’s personal life could become an issue in the case as it relates to her treatment of another stylist.”

*rolls eyes backwards until the whites show, trembles, falls backwards and starts clawing at the air*

Bring em out bring em out! Suddenly sounds different.

This is old fucking dumbness but it's still fucking dumbness and that's what we're going for this week.

I really hate it when the gay community tries to force people out. Like, against their will. I mean celebrities, politicians, what have you. Because it's fucking dumb. I used to think it was a good thing but I've realized that being forced to come out is rather scary and hurtful.

"Oh Xands, they're being selfish by staying in the closet!" I beg to differ head voice, for I think you are being fucking selfish by demanding they come out. Especially in this case when we're not even sure that Queen Latifah is...gay.

Do you not get that if it were safe for gays & lesbians and whoever to come out about their differing sexualities that we would all do it? There are hypocrites that stay in the closet because of fear, and then there are people that stay in the closet. It is, frankly, none of our goddamn business. If Latifah wanted to come out, she would have. But threatening to out her and sue her for unpaid fees is some ol bullshit. If you agree with any of that you are also on some ol' bullshit and I really don't care.

As a black person, I don't mind coming out to a few friends every now and then but I am scared to death, really, of coming out to the world. It would not be good. I'd rather run around with an upside down cross and three sixes on my head screaming "GODLESS" than whisper I'm gay. I try to live as openly as I can but it's pretty rare, except in print, that you'll hear me admit to my queerness. It is not good. It would not be good for me to come out to very many people until society changes its fucking dumb views on sexuality.

I look at celebrities that are out, and I do not feel better about coming out. I do not relate to very many of them even in sexuality. They feel safe to come out. I do not. Is Queen Latifah in the same situation? I do not know and I do not give a fuck. Perhaps she feels like Wanda Sykes, who officially came out about last year some time, and said it was just not a big deal or anyone else's business to broadcast. Perhaps Latifah is not gay. Perhaps she is. Perhaps you feel forcing her out of her comfort zone is the way to go. Perhaps you feel those pesky human rights and right to privacy are getting in the way.

Pretty much all of the above just brings me much sadness. And that's the theme of the week!

I wanna go, blog pimpin!

If you're tired of laughing at Amazon Fail-o-rama 09 already and/or you're anxiously waiting on your favorite blogger to get their shit together, why don't you go read Danno's adventures in co--er, New Orleans?



Here and, ah, here.

Now, I'm off to fail at school in the morning.

HARROWING REGISTRATION TALES

A little diversion for you all while I try to make smarty posts. This is how my day went.

Note: I use "bitch" a lot, more in reference to people that annoy me, not just women. Oh and copious blood.


So I hate undergarments when I sleep, usually, and the night before I chose to sleep in shorts and a purple t-shirt. That bit of info will become important later.

Friday, 10 AM. I wake up to the sound of someone typing on a keyboard, only to realize that I'm the only one in my room and it's actually just raining outside. Yay.

Figuring I wouldn't get to sleep anymore today, I wake up...and realize something important: I have to register for class at noon. Oh shit! Get on Gold Link and pull them classes up. I already had a fair idea of what I needed to take to get me credits & hours so I waste no time--

...except even as noon o'clock comes I still can't register. See, this has been happening for two days and no one has been able to tell me why. So I call the registrar again and they tell me that because I only have 18 earned hours (WTF?!) I have to go down to the advisement resource center and get cleared because of my developmental class. Keep in mind, I'd gotten cleared for those classes, oh, last month.

So wasting no time, at this point it's sunny outside but I grabbed my umbrella, put on some flip flops and left, angrily calling my mother & texting all the while. My period has started and I'm feeling squishy already, my back hurts and the last thing I want to do is walk up some damn stairs and shit.

I get to the Culp center and I ask the ladies at the ARC what the fuck I gotta do. They send me to the back. The girls in the back tell me to come back in an hour while one grabs my file--or so I think. Smoldering, I leave the office and go get me a paltry lunch and wait for these bitches to get it together. I walk to the 3rd floor to eat, then back down a ramp and decide I could sit in the library. It's a nice sunny, breezy day out but I'm having none of it as I'm desperately trying to keep blood from running down my legs and into my shoes. I don't really care, it's just that I have to pee every five minutes and that's a little annoying.

Exhausted, I wait in the coolness of the library, reclining in a soft chair and reading the Annotated Alice in Wonderland (need to check that out perhaps). It's easter so not a lot of people around for me to cuss out. About 1:30 I head back to the Culp and wait in the lobby a while longer, bleed on some seats, then bust back into the ARC center and head straight for the section I was at before, "undeclared" despite having a major.

Now here's where it gets fucked up. The lady I saw before--not one of the student workers--recognizes me and asks why I'm back, I say I still need to get advised. She's like "..." at me and goes to look for my file--I don't have one. Why? I'm developmental math only, so I need to go to my department (english) and see the folks there. Thing is, it's fucking 1:40 and I was supposed to have registered an hour and 40 minutes ago, I don't know who my adviser is this semester and with my aching lower back and cramping stomach THE LAST GODDAMN THING I WANT TO DO IS WALK 20 MINUTES TO BURLESON HALL WHEN YOU BITCHES JUST TOLD ME I COULD DO A WALK IN ADVISEMENT.

I didn't yell but I got testy as fuck, and eventually I met with an intern there who so happened to be in the English department as well, and she got me straightened out while I sat there in her nice comfy seat, probably bleeding on it all the while. Once all that drama was over, I texted and called in celebration and squishy-squished my bloody way back to my dorm room for a nap.

This is why I hate authority.

Just after sunset

Short blurb to get the bloggin' mojo back, but

As a little Xands, I was quite afraid of the dark. That's not so abnormal, neither is my paranoia about checking under my bed nightly and not having limbs hanging off the edge.

...what?

Well anyway, when I was a wee one I rarely had a reason to actually be afraid, except for boogeymen and shit. Now, of course, I can't much stand the light but I actually learned there are very good reasons to be afraid of the dark.

I try to live a life without fear--well, MUCH fear. I wondered a few minutes ago why I tend to get irate when Danzy talks about his ability to just flounce about well after dark whether it's going to work or walking...on Bourbon St in New Orleans (see his blog for details). Not really upset but just annoyed. Maybe jealous that he has a job. Maybe mad that he keeps wasting my limited texts so flippantly and I have to pay my own verizon bill now.

I wonder why I can't stand being out past, oh, 7 or 8. It dawned on my a few moments ago that, maybe, maybe I'm afraid.

Afraid of violence. Afraid of being killed or lost or raped.

My campus so happens to have a low crime rate, but that's only reported crimes. If all crimes got reported, well...

I may be afraid. It's not that those bad things can't happen to men, they do. But being a girl, you know, puts me at a severe disadvantage in life, which is sad. As masculine as I like to be it freaks me right out, it doesn't help that I lived in a freaking drug neighborhood that nearly fecking killed me. You learn those instincts and they don't go away. I don't trust the men, the, ah, lighter complected men that feel it's their right to tell me ____, as in the racism talks we often find ourselves having. The reasons I've excused myself from the company of many of my former associates. Who's to say they won't physically try to put me in my place.

You might say it's a healthy paranoia, I beg to differ. I wish I could just...stroll along Bourbon St without having to clutch my cell phone and look around every corner extra hard because you just never know. I wish a lot of things too though.

Oh well, have some hair!

Hm, seems that last post--the one before the poetry--drained my mojo. So...here's my hair! Just random and shit. I want to draw eggs.

It's not really that frizzy. And don't laugh at my growing widow's peak!

Rocking while black

I have a real post coming up soon. It's just that...well

*teary eyes*

I HAVEN'T SHOWERED PROPERLY IN DAYS. DAYS. *points furiously at clothing fortress just under window* WHY WON'T IT GO DOWN?!

So have some music. It...sort of has to do with some shit I want to get into later. It's Living Colour and King's X!

Spurious Hair Purchase: Black Earth Products

Part of my semi-transition to natural hair, which, if you remember from waaay back in August (I do not), pretty much involved me just cutting off my damaged hair and carrying on--

Part of that was, I said to myself, "Self", I says, "we're not going to use all those stupid 'black hair care' products Target tries to pan off to us for 20 dollars. No more olive oil organic no lye super blow out kits!"

And so far I've been pretty good about using less stupid stuff and keeping it real simple. I haven't really switched over to totally organic & natural products, but I've kept me afro up pretty well. And as a reward (kinda) it's grown thicker and longer wilder *swish swish* I also desperately need a haircut like WHOA.

So...basically because I don't trust many people to know what the fuck to do with my fro, it's imperative I figure out how to take care of it, and I think I'm going to slowly make the change more drastically (yes that's what I said) over to natural products that will make it less Brillo Pad-tastic.

I started using Talia Waajid's healing hair oil because my scalp had been itchier than usual and me thinks I'd bout scratched it up something fierce, so that's been helping. Only, I think it's actually more useful as a hot oil treatment and since I do not/can not heat dry my hair it's not AS effective as it could be, except in not making my scalp so damn irate.

So, since I'm still pretty happy with the product, me thinks I'm going to go for the rest of the shampoo & conditioner line. It looks pretty nice. I'm not totally feeling the herbal cleanser since I don't like putting in that much damn effort, but I think I'll come out better buying the whole set then just getting the shampoo & conditioner separately.

I've also decided that since my hair is so porous, I need to stop dying it with semi/demi permanent dye. It's still freaking PURPLE on the top. I want a new color already! In the meantime I'm trying to convince my buddy to dye hers blue.

Visas, ready!

Dear Depression

I'm afraid this isn't working.

I know, the last time we got back together I vowed it would be forever. Teenage promises rarely extend into adulthood, childhood relationships held on by such slender threads.

I can't be with you anymore.

You're a bleak cloud over my life...which...uh I guess is the point. For years you've dominated first my nights, then my weekends, then my weeks, until you consumed entire months of my life. And while you brought out the creative side in me you rather suppressed the other aspects of me, like...everything else. Then you just swallowed up the creative side as well so that's moot.

Well, after our little bout last night, no more. I'm asking you to leave politely.

Also, I want my music collection back ASAP. I forget when we swapped but I want all my LPs back and they better not be damaged or so help me. Frankly when you're not around I don't even enjoy your music that much. I'm not even sure what YOU see in it. I don't want to know. Just give me my records.

Sincerely,

xands.

PS: I actually really want your Bauhaus CDs. I'll trade you vintage Madonna?

Writerly check in

Sometimes, if you recall, when I'm not busy running the vending machine downstairs dry of delicious M&Ms or painting my nails odd colors or being so angry that the lacquer dries on contact (this is very handy ladies and or gents), I like to dabble in writing.

But since school, which--ironically--requires writing, I've wasted most of that genius (and it is genius) on writing papers...papers...a few more papers...and a speech or two. I'm not sure why I write out my speeches since my memory is like a fine woven basket and I hate index cards.

In any case, 90% of my writing power goes to that then about 9% comes to blog entries, which is why occasionally I write like I'm not even trying anymore. It's coz I'm not. The anger comes pretty easily but the wordsy part, damnit, the words!

So I devote that other 1% to writing fiction for joy and that's too bad--not the 1% part, the writing. This one percent takes forever to trickle from my brain to my fingers to my keyboard and once it's gone I kinda forget about it. So I was looking through my files of things to finish and I remembered the last thing I was working on. I read it and wondered who would play such a cruel joke on me, then remembered I had started it about a few weeks ago on a rainy day.

It was a dreary day out, at least dreary in nature. The dark storm clouds were peeling back slowly to reveal the early morning sun, moving so quickly against the static blue sky I thought I might throw up if I looked any longer. The morning rain had made a swampland of the of the campus grounds, already stripped bare and dry by winter, it now dissolved into mush beneath my shoes. Even the concrete seemed wobbly as I crossed the platform to the great white marble steps of the library. I tried to nudge off some of the excess mud on the edge of the steps but then I’d walk into someone else’s muddy footprints. Wonderful.

It was everywhere. I wiped my feet off on the mat; more mud stained my white Polo tennis shoes. It was a disgrace. The working students at the checkout counter looked at me almost apologetically but in truth, I didn’t mind. I wanted my notes more than anything, then maybe a nap later.

I was so mad at myself for missing Calculus. It wasn’t even a good reason, I was more or less playing hooky. And I felt like a major dick—as big a dick as a five-foot girl could feel anyway. Fortunately I’d made one friend in that class, and I’d picked a good one. Good enough to answer my pleading, hokey emails promptly and agreeing to meet me so early, on such a grey day.

Man, that narrator IS a dick. A dick with nice shoes but a phallus nonetheless. Wait, this shit is in first person--auugh I remember that day! WHY WOULD I WRITE ABOUT THAT?

*headlap*

...Oh well I better finish it. Oh and I'm not five-feet. I'm five-foot one. Literary embellishment.

Different is Bad

I did this post talking about Cat Cora and made another, shorter jokey (I assume they know I'm joking) post on Facebook demanding my friends (that pay attention) explain, in baby words, to me, what a gay person looks like.

We've already seen why that's so hard because GAY FOLKS LOOK LIKE EVERYONE ELSE.

But a comment popped up that I just need to accept that everything different isn't bad. I was going to continue the joke about different, in fact, being very bad as history has shown us, but I'm sleepy so I let it die.

But let's just be clear in a semi-serious manner that, being different is bad. It's very bad. Being different gets folks killed. If you don't meet the default you're pretty much fucked all your life regardless of those who love you, your success in life, how you love yourself. The world doesn't want you to exist, the problem is you do so it's sort of obliged to just let you...but not without grief.

This piece of misandry brought to you by the fact that I think I hate white balsamic vinaigrette X(

Too random for twitter

-I need to do something about the edges of my hair. And my chops. I'm starting to look like the singer from Mungo Jerry.

Anyway, I guess because Spring is coming (I guess spring is coming?!) my hair is starting to be...drier especially around the edges and it's just making me mad all around.

-Danz went hardcore on me and got a tattoo in Russian (pravda or "truth") down in At-lanna. I think I actually mentioned this passive aggressively. I think he's looking for valediction because I never specified whether I liked the tat or not. It must be driving him nuts.

My opinion is I want to know why getting a tattoo is some sort of rite *blink* I swear everyone I know as soon as they hit 18 went off and got a tattoo (except me of course so now I'm the unique one). The mystique is just GONE now. Like so many things in life I do not care.

-I wish it wouldn't be 70 one day and 50 the next

-I really need to go get some food. Bojangle's is about to become my best friend I think.

-I have an overdue library book. One day! I need to turn it in...but I need it...and it'll be raining tomorrow! *sniffle* what do I do...

-I think I actually have TWO over due books. Um, shit, I hope they just take that off my ID/debit card and not my main account.

-This week went better than I thought. I only caught severe cabin fever once, but I settled for wandering around the 3rd floor rather than stalking the campus grounds. Mission accomplished.

What DOES a lesbian look like?

AKA Cat Cora is a lesbian. She's pregnant. She's pregnant AND a lesbian. And so is her partner.

Special note: My E key is being a petty bastard again, forgive any typos

When mama informed me of this devastating news last night/this morning, I was....

...ehhh?

I didn't know Cat was a sister in sappho. Oh well, there you go.

Mother, however, was flabbergasted. Cat Cora, she said, the Iron Chefess (I mad that right up) doesn't look like a lesbian. She just looks...serious.

After extensive rolling of eyes I asked mother, "What DOES a gay person look like?"

She answered quickly with an "I don't know", Cat just doesn't look like one.

And that's too bad BECAUSE SHE IS, SO SUCK IT. YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN DANGER.

Those pesky chameleon gays, infiltrating every walk of life and shit. Soon we won't know who's gay, who's bi, who's really a man or a woman! OH NOES.

Seriously though, why do people still hold these outdated ideals of what a gay person looks like. Sure, some of us do willingly follow the flamboyant limp wrist or ultra butch stereotype just to name a few, and that's fine, but when is it going to sink in that gays ALSO look like Mrs Jones down the street or the dude at Jiffy Lube fixing your car? WHEN, I ask, is it going to get through that gays, lesbians, transpeople, and anyone falling under the queer spectrum, as a whole, just look like regular normal folk?

We are people. We're all unique, we're all individuals (like lil snowflakes!), but we are PEOPLE. That's it. You can work on your gaydars and what not all you want but you need to own up to the fact that gays are human beings and look just like you, mama, daddy, auntie an'nem. That's pretty much it.

So yeah, I guess Cat Cora DOES look like a lesbian. Oh and about her being pregnant, I thought that made news last year anyway. I must be traveling through time and getting timelines mixed up and shit, again. Oops!

How do you watch a movie?

See, I was trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to say about the Manchurian Candidate, since I'm dying to talk about it but there's soooo...much going on with it. Then this came up. And I GUESS it was important enough to warrant its own post. Did I mention this was going to be a long ass week?

I'm dead serious too. How do you watch a movie? Do you even think about it?

Movies are my hobby, well, at least a specific KIND. Midnight movies, trashy flicks, cult films, obscure movies, old classics. Horror, drama, a little comedy, foreign language. Art house shows. Like subjecting myself to television, it's just what I do. It's my THING.

I treat movies like reading most of the time. I can't help it, I have to analyze. I don't care if it's some dreck (and I use that affectionately) from Something Weird, I'll find something to nitpick about it whether I'm planning on writing up a blog post on it or not. I could probably be talking to Mrs Jones down the street and bring up filming techniques and artful use of grainy footage or sepia tones. Again, it's just my thing. I do it. I don't know why I do it. Watching movies & talking about them here or elsewhere is just for fun, usually. I do take it seriously though--probably entirely too seriously. This is why no one watches movies with me anymore I think *sad face*

Anyway, I guess just about all of us are on the DVD trip now, or at least using Betamax (stupid VHS). Or at least torrenting--I won't tell. Usually, if it's a good DVD it'll come with some sort of special features. You'll watch them if they're good, like interviews or old trailers or deleted scenes. If they're bootlegged--as in poor quality as in low grade as in "this sucks!"--you'll probably pass right over it. I make it a point to watch special features if there's something going on. It's like research. Researching movies is also part of my thing, considering some of the movies I tend to force myself through. If I hadn't done some sort of research on Suspiria or Satyricon I'd have been so lost.

I analyze. I pick out filming techniques or art techniques if I can remember any. I analyze the themes, messages in context if I can. I do it all mentally, btw, which probably accounts for why I'm so scatterbrained *side eye*

It's a funny thing to do but I think, other than watching some, uh, truly memorable films, this helps movies stick in my brain more. I can recall some truly random shit I've ended up watching, I guess because of that whole little thought process.

Yup, me going up and beyond the call of duty. While you sit there and flick popcorn in your mouth without sharing, I'm looking at medium shots and close ups *sigh* life is hard.

Washing machines, they liberate the modern woman

You know what I say about the Vatican...can't stop won't stop! Y'all can hate them now!

Vatican says washing machine brought rights to women

The washing machine has had a greater liberating role for women than the pill, the official Vatican daily said in an International Women's Day commentary.

"The washing machine and the emancipation of women: put in the powder, close the lid and relax," said the headline on the article in Osservatore Romano.

"In the 20th cenutry, what contributed most to the emancipation of western women?" questioned the article.

"The debate is still open. Some say it was the pill, others the liberalisation of abortion, or being able to work outside the home. Others go even further: the washing machine," it added.

The long eulogy to the washing machine - for which the first rudimentary models appeared in the 18th century - highlighted "the sublime mystique to being able to 'change the sheets on the beds twice a week instead of once'," quoting the words of late American feminist Betty Friedan.

While the machines were at first unreliable, technology has developed so quickly that now there is "the image of the super woman, smiling, made up and radiant among the appliances of her house", wrote Osservatore.

...Riiiight. Here I was thinking it was the microwavable TV dinner :/ Come on, who wants to back me on that one?

I dunno, I just feel that after basically backing a 9 year old's rape, the church should go sit in a corner and think long and hard about what they've done. Don't worry, an apology will be coming in about 10 decades at least.

400 posts, 400 posts!

You're looking at my 400th official post. Yep, this is it. Plain ain't it?

It's rather hot and humid outside, as I realized when I found myself making the longest trek ever to RiteAid, only to be sidetracked by Bojangle's. I don't even like chicken, I just wanted some damn tea.

...I wound up eating chicken because I was hungry like a mofo. Seriously, 20 minutes! I walked for 20 minutes in 70 degree heat. I'd forgotten what 70 degrees (Fahrenheit :D) felt like. How did we go from the lower double digits to this shit?! AUUUGH! The worst thing was ALL I WANTED WAS MILK *frowny face* this is sooo hard.

I figured out how I'm going to get paid for the next three weeks, finally. I'm going to get paid by attending educational events on campus and writing, hold on, reaction papers! Wow, I haven't had to do that...ever. Unless it's here, you know I'm perfectly fine doing that. I will give them a reaction alright. Damn, I wish I'd made it out to that Int'l Women's Day seminar Thursday *sigh*

Speaking of which, Sunday is officially International Women's Day two-thousand-nine and, awfully conveniently, it'll be raining that day *another sigh* so I'll get something together maybe...

Uh, I've been watching the Manchurian Candidate--the '62 version not that...04 version which...is about the same as margarine is related to an elephant--and we simply must do a reviewlette. I'm only 4 decades late, fuck em!

This is not for you, fuck you!

Oh Pearl Jam. Sometimes I wish I could choke Eddie Vedder and thump him in the eye. But the man does good work when he's not busy trying to be Neil Young's long lost son. SOMEONE took the "godfather of grunge" moniker too seriously, Eddie.

Where did they come from, stormed my room?

Restless soul, enjoy your youth
Like Muhammad hits the truth
Can't escape from the common rule
If you hate something, don't you do it too...too

Small my table, a-sits just two
Got so crowded, I can't make room
Oh, where did they come from? Stormed my room!
And you dare say it belongs to you, to you!

This is not for you
This is not for you
This is not for you
Oh, not for you, ah, you

(Scream, my friends...don't call me...
Friends, no they don't scream...
My friends don't call...my friends don't...)

All that's sacred comes from youth
Dedication, naive and true
With no power, nothing to do
I still remember, why don't you? Don't you?

This is not for you
This is not for you
This is not for you
Oh never was for you, fuck you!
This is not for you
Oh, this is not for you, yeah, you...
This is not for you
Oh, not for you
Oh, you

Early bloggiversary to meeee~

Yaaay *cake*

*snooze*

My bloggiversary, mucho talked about but seldom seen, is March 5. Which I believe so happens to be International Women's Day. Whoops, turns out it's the 8th of March. I can't count it seems, my point still stands. We'll just celebrate that instead :D Cake is cake on any day.

Oh, hey, check it out. An early gift--comments are now being brought to you by DISQUS. I was going to go with Intense Debate, already having an account on it and all, but apparently ID doesn't support Blogger Classic, which I'm on, which is petty. Oh well, DISQUS was me second choice.

Why am I so inconveniencing you all? Because I HATE Blogger's comment system. It's so impersonal D:< and weird...I can't respond to you all so my funny replies get lost in space unless you habitually check individual blog entries like I do. But I don't have a life and I'm suspecting you all do. I've been annoyed with it since I started blogging but I didn't do anything because I had no idea about(warning: scientific language) third party commenting system thingies. But now I can!

So, fear not, you can still drop me knowledge & shite. I've got it set up, for now, where you can just leave me a comment, maybe your URL, and go on your merry way. No filters or anything, I'd much rather just drag you into that big Back Room with the padded walls and Master Lock *pause* _pleeeease

Anyway...be sure to try it out. You can still leave comments on older posts in the regular Blogger-way if you click the title of the post. I lied, just continue hitting the comments link. I'd try it myself but Blogger is doing that thing where my entries just randomly vanish *rolls eyes* So definitely give it a go and tell me what you think.