Here begins a brand new line.

Outkast Picspam

new_evolution — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 07:35:36 GMT

magdalyna posted two parts of a fic that features Lupe Fiasco, Tyga, and Jay-Z. I remarked upon how there needs to be more hip hop slash, and how I would definitely read Big Boi/Andre 3000 if anybody wrote it. She suggested that I picspam them. So, really, this is her fault.

This is Outkast. Pretty much my favorite rap artists.

They are comprised of Big Boi....

...and Andre 3000.

I hate to play favorites, but Andre is totally my favorite.

Such a ridiculous hat. And yet, I would bone him in an instant.

I had a lyre patch like that from high school marching band.

Clearly, he is wearing fuzzy clothing because he wants me to pet him.

PRETTY.

Green. Velvet. Pants.

That may or may not be Seven, the child he had with Erykah Badu.

How I love his crazy-ass fashion sense.

Let's move on to Big Boi. Although I don't have as many pictures of him alone....

I love him too.

That is a CORDUROY FEDORA, is what that is. (ETA: Do I spy a bit of argyle under that jacket? HI, I LOVE YOU.)

Now for some pictures of them together.

Because that's what it's all about, really.

They're BFFs. A gang of two. And we all know what that means.

Andre is being a SRS ARTEEST, while Big Boi chills in his lurid hat.

Big Boi seems to be a hat person, which just makes me like him that much more. Also, SMILES.

If somebody were to write me Big Boi/Patrick, I would probably have an orgasm or five.

And that's all I've got.

Because This Fandom Needs More Girls

new_evolution — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 12:19:45 GMT

Why has Lyn-Z not started showing up in fanfiction? Surely people are not bitter about Gerard's marriage to this fine, fine lady. Maybe they're just not familiar enough with her yet. I intend to remedy that situation.

Allow me to introduce you to Lyn-Z.

She plays bass.

She is hot.

And bendy.

And adorable.

Did I mention hot?

She likes to wear schoolgirl outfits. NOT THAT I AM COMPLAINING, MIND YOU.

Nope, not complaining at all.

Gasodginasdgfns. QWetioaenasdklng, cvjkbnmcxvjnm. WOIERTGNWRGNAGHDFZFB. Sorry, was I saying something?

I like boobs. See why this fandom needs more girls?

And that's all I could find using Google Image Search. If anyone has any more pictures, please share. And show these ones to your friends. AND WRITE FIC, GODDAMNIT! SHE IS SMOKIN' HOT! MAKE WITH THE THREE-WAYS!

Okay. I'm done.

new_evolution — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 01:37:05 GMT

Today was my very first Crutchless Day. I gimped downtown in my big plastic boot to hang out with Jasmine and Mirinda. We had lunch at Seva (roasted veggie and goat cheese wrap--delicious) and did some shopping. At The Getup, Jasmine bought a tennis dress and a pair of roller skates, both magnificently '70s, and I absolutely cannot wait until she posts pictures of herself wearing them on Myspace or Facebook, because it will be amazing. I bought a nifty plaid hat. We wound up in Borders, where I got Father's Day gift for my dad (The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Micheal Chabon, which I really want to read. Is it bad to give someone a present on the condition that they must lend it to you at some point? Maybe I'll just get it out of the library). I hadn't planned to buy anything else for myself, but we were sitting in the poetry section, as is often Mirinda's wont, and a copy of William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell caught my eye, and it was only five bucks, so I figured why not.

Anyway, the real point of this entry: I can walk! Slowly!

STORY. READ.

new_evolution — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 23:40:39 GMT

I have written genfic, and I don't know where to put it. Can't use patrickxpeter or slutrick due to the lack of slash. It's not a bookverse crossover, which exempts it from fahrenheit_0101. So I'm just gonna post it here. Which means, oh my god, a public entry. (Okay, to fahrenheit_0101 it goes. But I'm just gonna leave it here and link to it there because I am lazy.)

I think my mind has some sort of mechanism to insure that, in the odd event that I write gen, it is always crack. After all, the last one I wrote was a crossover between MCR and Sandman. And this one...well.

Title: Apocalypse Please
Author: new_evolution
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The end is near.
Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen, lyrics are courtesy of David Bowie.

When the warnings of nuclear holocaust started coming in over the airwaves, they dispersed and fled home to their respective families. Only when they were settled in did they realize that the four of them were a family, and there was no way they could be apart from each other in these last hours. Pete called Patrick, interrupting Patrick's call to Andy, who was on AIM talking to Joe at the same time. Hastily, they went over the logistics and decided to reconvene in Patrick's parents' basement. It seemed fitting to meet the end in the place where it had all begun.

Now they're clustered together in a circle, ignoring the couch and chairs in favor of the floor. It gives them the feeling of being huddled in a bomb shelter, except they know that the basement won't protect them if (when) the bombs hit.

"So this is it, huh?" Pete says. "The end of the world."

Andy rolls his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were enjoying this."

"Well, you've gotta admit there's something exciting about the fact that we'll all be baked to a crisp within the next few hours--"

Joe snaps to attention. "Speaking of baked...." He starts going through his pockets. "Could've sworn I had it on me--a-ha." He extracts a plastic bag containing half a joint. "There is no way I'm staying sober for this."

As he's holding his breath after the first hit, Andy asks softly, "Feel like sharing that?"

Joe's lungful of smoke exits in a rush. "You?" he exclaims between coughs. "Okay, now I know we're all gonna die, because this has to be a sign of the apocalypse."

Andy glances between Pete and Patrick's bewildered faces. "Well, I'd let them give me morphine if I had terminal cancer. This isn't much different."

"The hell it isn't!" Pete says angrily. "What about your principles? What about dying as you lived?"

Andy rubs at his temples. "One, I'm not about to listen to a lecture on straight-edge principles from the fucking Drugstore Cowboy. Two, if I'm dead, it won't make much difference. And three...." He sighs. "I just don't really want to be thinking clearly right now."

Joe, looking slightly awed, passes him the joint. Andy takes it in his fingertips, and a sheepish expression crosses his face. "You think you could, uh, show me how?"

Joe isn't sure whether to laugh or cry at that. He settles for patiently explaining the mechanics of pot-smoking--taking a few small drags, breathing in air afterwards to force the smoke into the lungs, holding it in for as long as possible. Andy coughs surprisingly little upon exhaling.

"I don't feel anything."

"It'll kick in soon. Be patient."

Andy starts to give the joint back, but then Patrick speaks up. "Pass it here."

Pete gives him a pained look. "Not you too."

Patrick shrugs. "Can't let them have all the fun, can we?" He takes the lighter from Joe and the joint from Andy and calmly sparks up as though he's been doing it all his life.

He tries to hand the joint to Pete after he's done; all he gets is a you've-lost-your-mind stare. He nudges him playfully. "Come on, cowboy. What's one more chemical going to hurt?"

Pete sighs. "Oh, what the hell."

---

Joe is now wondering why he never tried to get Patrick stoned before, as it is possibly the most entertaining thing he has ever seen. Currently, the boy is giggling madly, face red, hat askew, and fighting a losing battle to explain what he finds amusing. Joe thinks he might have heard the words "cockroaches" and "Keith Richards" in there somewhere. Pete is laughing almost as hard at his pitiful attempts at coherent speech, while Andy just smiles and plays mindlessly with a lock of his hair.

By and by, they quiet down, and the four of them look around at each other in a moment of reflection. "This is perfect," Patrick murmurs happily. "I just wish we had music."

Pete gives him a light shove. "Then sing something, genius."

"Oh. Right. What should I sing?"

"Anything about the end of the world. Except that stupid REM song."

"Hang on." They can almost see him scrolling through his mental music archive. "Okay, got it." He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "Pushing through the market square, so many mothers sighing...."

When he gets to the chorus, the other three join in. They throw their arms across each other's shoulders and sway, as though they were around a campfire or at a bar on a Saturday night instead of in a basement at the end of the world. "Five years, stuck on my eyes/Five years, what a surprise/We got five years, my brain hurts a lot/Five years, and that's all we've got...."

"But we don't have five years," Andy says contemplatively, after they finish. "It's gonna be, what, probably an hour, if that."

Joe groans. "God, you're a buzzkill even when you're high."

Andy is about to reply with a snarky comment when a quiet sniffle cuts him short. He looks over to realize that Patrick is in tears.

Usually Patrick is more mature than the three of them put together, but then sometimes there are moments like this, when he seems to lose ten years off his age and six inches off his height, and he suddenly becomes everyone's little brother. Three pairs of arms surround him like blankets, and he relaxes into the triple embrace, sobbing.

"Hey," Pete whispers in his ear. "Calm down, Rickster. It's gonna be okay."

"How can you say that?" Patrick wails. "It'll all be over, and nobody will ever hear the songs I was going to write, and I never got to have kids...."

"If you had kids, they'd be dying too," Pete says logically, "and imagine how much worse you'd feel then. Come on, don't think of it as an ending, think of it as an adventure. We're going someplace we've never been before."

Patrick leans his head on Pete's shoulder. "Where d'you think we're going?"

"To the place where all musicians go when they die," Pete replies quietly, "where the streets are paved with old drum heads, and there are shows every night starring everyone you never got to see when they were alive. You'll get to meet Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, Jeff Buckley...." He looks around. "Who else?"

Andy replies, "Joe Strummer."

"Dimebag Darrell," Joe offers, and the others laugh.

"Freddie Mercury," Patrick says finally, "and Billie Holiday." He sounds a bit happier.

Pete continues, "And we'll play guitars with strings made from the molten metal at the hearts of stars, and there'll be no stupid Top Forty because every song will be the best, and you'll be able to sing as long as you want without your throat getting sore."

Patrick smiles a little and whispers, "Thank you."

The four of them are still holding onto each other, and nobody seems to want to let go. Andy glances at his watch. "Shouldn't be much longer now."

Pete looks up from where his face is resting against the top of Patrick's head. "Well, boys?" He grins. "Shall we go out singing?"

"One of ours this time," Joe suggests, and Andy nods in agreement. Patrick breaks into the opening lines of "Saturday," shakily at first, but gathering strength as he goes. The others add their voices to his, slowly building in volume.

Soon the missiles will come, shattering the sky like bullets through glass. Soon the world will be silent forever. But at this moment, their song seems louder than any explosion.

Fin

Fic Archive

new_evolution — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 07:33:05 GMT

My Chemical Romance

Standalones:
Ruby
A Story About Prog Rock
In the Shadow of a Star
Spin
Complicate Me

Chaptered, complete:
Train In Vain (crossover with AFI): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Endless (crossover with Sandman): 1 2 3 4 5

Chaptered, in progress:
House of Wolves: 1 2 3 4

Panic! at the Disco

Keeping Each Other Warm
So Long, And Thanks For All The Sex (crossover with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)

Fall Out Boy

Never Enough
Diction
Broken Hallelujah (crossover with MCR and The Giver)
The Boy Can't Help It (crossover with...um...everyone)
Human Debris
Apocalypse Please

Other

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Travis McCoy/William Beckett)
Turn and Face the Strange (Cobra Starship)

new_evolution — Fri, 24 Feb 2006 16:26:05 GMT

In light of recent events, this journal shall henceforth be friends-only. I didn't want it to come to this--it feels like a cop-out--but let's just say I have learned the importance of discretion, and I want to be able to say what I want in this thing without fear. At some point, I'll have to go back and change the security on all my old entries, which is going to be a pain in the ass, but it needs to be done.

new_evolution — Fri, 24 Feb 2006 07:25:56 GMT

Lovely Thursday night. I brought Joe to the Garg meeting, which was another staplefest, but fun just the same. 'Twas followed by Café Ambrosia with him and She-Alex and Valerie--chocolate chai is liquid happiness. Then back to East Quad, where we hung out in Alex's room and listened to some music (the girls weren't digging RENT) and comedy (they did, however, like George Carlin and Bill Hicks). Next came alone-time with Joe after Val left and Alex kicked us out. I caught a bus back to north campus that was filled with drunken fuckers. Came in here to find a stern note from Abby; her pissedness at me is fully justified, but I think it's a bit much that she's looking into terminating her rooming contact. I mean, come on, what's a few more months? I need to write her back to apologize and explain that Joe and I were not screwing around below her and the shaking of the bed was caused only by our shifting around as we tried to go to sleep.

Tomorrow I only have one class--the other was cancelled. This makes me happy.

new_evolution — Thu, 23 Feb 2006 19:01:47 GMT

Last night when I was feeling like shit, Joe came over again and gave me good advice, which I may not have wanted to hear but probably needed to, and sympathy. We went to the grad library to get some work done, then came back here. We hung out for a while with Dorm Keith, who happens to be a friend of Joe's. We found out from him that Abby apparently thinks we were having sex with her in the room night before last--what the fuck? Yes, I know she can't see what we're doing when we're on the bottom bunk and she's above us, but if we'd been having sex, she would've known beyond the shadow of a doubt. First, I don't bone people within a week of meeting them, and second...with my roommate in the goddamned room? I think I need to set her straight on that at some point. Also, it bothers me that she didn't say anything to me about it, but freaked out to Caitlin and was overheard by Rohit, who told Joe about it on the bus, who told me that she'd freaked out but didn't know exactly what she said, prompting us to ask Keith about it. Anyway, Joe ended up spending the night again, which is probably not good for the roommate dynamics, but I'll only be living with her for another few months anyway.

I got my anthro midterm written. It's due in lecture in half an hour. 'Tis not my best work, but something beats nothing.

new_evolution — Thu, 23 Feb 2006 02:03:38 GMT

Before you read the rest of this entry, a disclaimer of sorts. I know that saying these things probably makes me appear to be a horrible, spoiled person, but really I am just ranting, providing myself with much-needed catharsis, which is just one of the many delightful purposes of this journal. You have the option of not reading this, as opposed to if I were directly talking to one of you.

"Sorry if it seems like I'm hounding you, what with the calls and e-mails, but there are some things you need to understand. I know that as a young adult you are establishing your independence and may not want to keep in constant touch with home. But you're my daughter, I love you, and I need to know that you are OK. I also feel like the steady stream of cash I send you often goes pretty much unacknowledged and when I'm not thanked I get a little bent out of shape. The $1500 a month I am sending to U-M is not a drop in the bucket. Consider that half of what I spent on your tuition last semester was essentially thrown away and perhaps you can understand that, although the University may not agree, I have a right to know how you are doing in your classes, and you have a responsibility to keep me informed. I sometimes get the feeling you think going to school there is something you are entitled to, and that it's my duty to pay your way. But actually your attending U-M is a privelege and a gift and you need to appreciate that. I don't mean to sound bitchy or harsh but these are things I've been thinking about for awhile and I had to get them off my chest. I hope you understand."

1. "Establishing" my "independence"--fuck that shit, I'm busy. I have many things to think about, and they usually do not include sending frequent messages to my mother to let her know what is happening. Does she want to know what is happening? She doesn't know that she doesn't want to know, but I do.

2. Okay, do not tell me that you love me in order to provoke remorse.

3. You've reminded me before that half of last semester's tuition was "essentially thrown away." Do you think I failed two classes deliberately? Do you think it makes me feel any goddamned better when you rub it in my face?

4. No, you do not have a right to know how I am doing in my classes. You do not have a right to know anything that I don't want to fucking tell you.

5. Privilege, gift, yes, yes, I know. Please excuse me for not showering you with gratitude every fucking second. See #1.

6. Hey, thanks for getting those things off your chest and putting them on my chest. My general good mood of the past several days has been broken. Congratulations.

new_evolution — Wed, 22 Feb 2006 21:40:25 GMT

Lyric from a new (leaked-to-internet) Flaming Lips song, aparently:

"Every time you state your case
The more I want to punch your face"

Jeph Jacques thinks that it is stupid. What the shit, man? That's one of the best lyrics I've heard in a long time. Maybe just 'cos those altered Spiderman comic strips made me fall in love with the expression "punch your face."

Bitches love me 'cos they know I can identify morphemes.

new_evolution — Wed, 22 Feb 2006 21:10:18 GMT

Mighty christ, it's nice out again today. I now fear what kind of hellacious weather the rest of the winter will bring. Plagues of ice-locusts, perhaps.

Joe came over here last night. We learned that the study lounge in this dorm is not a good place to study if one actually wishes to get any work done. But I got my laundry done, which is something. Joe ended up sleeping over, and this morning we skipped our respective first classes in favor of more enjoyable activities.

My linguistics midterm was a fucking breeze. I got there about five minutes late and finished the test fifteen minutes early.

Abby wants me to sweep the room. I hate sweeping; I'm allergic to dust, so said chore makes my nose turn into a working model of Mt. Vesuvius. But I suppose it shall have to be done.

new_evolution — Tue, 21 Feb 2006 22:54:03 GMT

If food were sex, the chocolate bread pudding I just ate would be a three-way with David Bowie circa 1976 and Salma Hayek. And this is dorm food we're talking about. What would this confection be like when baked by a high-end professional chef?

The weather today has been ridiculously beautiful. Of course, this being the crazy land of America's Hand, tomorrow it is sure to be freezing-ass cold with 600-mile-per-hour winds and hail the size of turkey carcasses.

The Crazy Land of America's Hand. That's what Sufjan Stevens should have called that album. I'm glad Sufjan has only made albums about Michigan and Illinois because now all the states that actually have multiple redeeming characteristics are jealous of us for a change. Or at least they should be.

new_evolution — Tue, 21 Feb 2006 21:45:29 GMT

From a comment I wrote somewhere in mychemicalslash:

"My theory is that Mikey's inhaler will keep getting written into fics even if/when everybody knows he's not really asthmatic because male vulnerability is a key element of slash fics (which is why everyone cries so damn much), and not being able to breathe occasionally is a wonderfully vulnerable characteristic."

I wonder if "Professor of Slashology" is a viable career choice.

new_evolution — Tue, 21 Feb 2006 17:15:45 GMT

So last night, Joe called me up and asked if I wanted to study together, I said yeah, and we went to the grad library and did so. 'Tis lucky he had that idea, 'cos otherwise I wouldn't have done any studying for my linguistics midterm (which is tomorrow). I've never spent much time in the grad library before; I now know that I should go there to do homework more often because the atmosphere somehow forces one to concentrate. Anyway, after we both got tired of the subjects we were reading about, we got Y Tu Mama Tambien from the media library and came back here to watch it. Fucking great movie--realistic, emotional without being melodramatic, and erotic as all hell. Even the heterosexual bits completely failed to disgust me. And even if they had, the delightful boy-kiss towards the end would have made it all worthwhile.

At the end of the movie, we of course were both in a certain frame of mind, so certain developments occurred, and while we were...in the middle of something (I was sans vêtiments, which should give you some idea), we heard the terrifying sound of my roommate's keycard in the lock. I shouted, "SHIT, don't come in!" and scrambled under the bedspread with all due haste. Once I was covered, we both called out that she could enter, but she'd gone.

Disaster averted, we re-dressed and went back to East Quad--just to sleep together, not to do anything further. For the rest of the night, we kept repeating, "SHIT, don't come in!" and laughing uproariously. Now I'm back home (uh...I mean dorm), and I haven't seen Abby yet today. I'm really curious as to how she'll behave around me. Incidentally, I think Joe's roommate is starting to wish we'd both die, or at least fall off the loft bed and get injured.

new_evolution — Mon, 20 Feb 2006 22:48:09 GMT

the Romantic
Test finished!

you chose BY - your Enneagram type is FOUR.

"I am unique"

Romantics have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me

Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.

Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value
myself.

Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.

Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy,
I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.

Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being a Four

my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep
level

my ability to establish warm connections with people

admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life

my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor

being unique and being seen as unique by others

having aesthetic sensibilities

being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being a Four

experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair

feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved

feeling guilty when I disappoint people

feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me

expecting too much from myself and life

fearing being abandoned

obsessing over resentments

longing for what I don't have

Fours as Children Often

have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in
original game
s

are very sensitive

feel that they don't fit in

believe they are missing something that other people have

attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.

become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood

feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents'
divorce)

Fours as Parents

help their children become who they really are

support their children's creativity and originality

are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings

are sometimes overly critical or overly protective

are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

Renee Baron & Elizabeth Wagele

The Enneagram Made Easy

Discover the 9 Types of People

HarperSanFrancisco, 1994, 161 pages

You are not completely happy with the result?!

You chose BY

Would you rather have chosen:

AY (EIGHT)

CY (SIX)

BX (NINE)

BZ (FIVE)

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 20% on ABC
You scored higher than 57% on XYZ

Link: The Quick and Painless ENNEAGRAM Test written by felk on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Only thing to do is jump over the moon.

new_evolution — Mon, 20 Feb 2006 21:09:58 GMT

Now is time for the story of my weekend.

On Saturday evening, Joe and I went out to dinner at a really good pan-Latin restaurant that I forget the name of. Then we went back to East Quad, listened to some music, and messed about. I was scheduled to watch a movie (Born Into Brothels) at 10:00 with some people from my women's studies class as part of a group project we're doing, so I left shortly before then. Unfortunately (or not), due to either my own lousy sense of direction, the evil of Mapquest, or both, I was unable to locate the house at which we were supposed to meet. After wandering lost for about half an hour, slightly unnerved by the lack of streetlights (it was a fairly safe-looking residential neighborhood, but I still get freaked out by city darkness), I came to the junction of East University Street and the unfamiliar street I was on, thought "Fuck it," and followed East U. back to East Quad to rejoin Joe. I told him of my misadventure, and we planned to rent and watch Born Into Brothels sometime later. We listened to the entire soundtrack of RENT (original Broadway cast recording), which was magnificent, and now I really need to see the movie when it comes out on DVD or the play if I ever get the chance. We messed about more, and I ended up spending the night there again. This time his roommate voluntarily kicked himself out, so it was a bit less precarious, although there was still the danger of falling off the loft bed.

In the morning (well, early afternoon) we went to brunch at the East Quad cafeteria and were joined after awhile by members of the Mafia crew (She-Alex, Jesse, E-Beth, and Adam) and hung out there for a few hours. This period of time, I think, was when I failed to notice that it was time to catch the performance of The Vagina Monologues that my women's studies group had also agreed to see as part of our project, and that I had already bought a fucking eleven-dollar ticket for. I did not kick myself for this until much later; at the time, I was having too much fun.

A little later in the afternoon, the two of us travelled to my dorm, listened to some of my music, and did things. Around seven, we went back down to central and ate dinner at East Quad, where we ended up sitting at a table with Jesse and two girls and a guy who I did not know. The girls, one of them in particular (Sarah, I think her name was? Maybe not, sometimes I suck with names). Fun was had. David Bowie was brought into the conversation at one point, and I wasn't even the one responsible for that. And we talked about sex a lot, probably causing the people at surrounding tables to wish we'd keep our voices down, but this is never something to care about. Sarah (?) was talking about her pretty-boy significant other, and I asked if he'd ever make out with guys for her entertainment. She said no and was rather displeased about this. Jesse, at one point, used the expression, "Bone her like you mean it." Also there was much talk of swollen vaginas. Around this time was when I realized I'd missed The Vagina Monologues and cursed my own idiocy.

After Joe and I left, as we were walking down East U, he said, "Just for the record, since we were talking about it at dinner, I would make out with a guy for you." That merited squealing and hugs from me. Shortly afterward, I reached into my jacket pocket for one of my gloves and accidentally whipped out my bra that was in there (don't ask). How is it that I am past being embarassed by such occurrances? I laughed my ass off and felt no shame. It reminded me of the unexpected-bra-in-sleeping-bag incident from that one time at Kat's house.

We went to the undergrad library to check out Born Into Brothels from the Askwith Media Library, but that particular part of the building was closed. So we went to Liberty Street Video to see if they had it; they did, but it was checked out, and the only other copy they had was only available for purchase rather than rental. We rented Boys Don't Cry instead, just for the hell, and brought it back to my room and watched it. 'Twas very sad at the end, very disturbing at other times, very emotionally affecting all 'round. After we finished it, Joe stayed with me until just before the buses stopped running.

Other than the whole missing-importang-women's-studies-stuff thing and the fact that Kat and I had meant to talk on the phone at some point but didn't, I couldn't have asked for a better two days.

new_evolution — Mon, 20 Feb 2006 07:09:33 GMT

Ungh. Great weekend. Long post later. Really fucking tired right now. Only the fact that I haven't updated in what feels like a really long time is motivating me to type this.

The Case for Destiny

new_evolution — Sat, 18 Feb 2006 17:13:40 GMT

What a strange and wonderful night I have had.

It actually started around 2:30 yesterday afternoon, when I met up with Brian and Ben. These are two guys I knew in middle school, at my old school--Ben was one of my best (well, only) friends in seventh grade. Brian goes here and lives in Bursley; Ben goes to a private parochial college in Illinois and is up here for the weekend. Anyway, I went with them to Meijer so that Brian could return some bottles, and then we went to Arby's for fatty goodness (it's amazing how good mozzerella sticks and curly fries can taste when one hasn't eaten them in yonks). We talked a lot about random and funny things, made a lot of lame "your mom" jokes, and sang along with Green Day in the car.

Our excursion finished, we went to Brian's room and ended up watching Cannibal: The Musical, which was fucking hilarious. The movie was over just in time for us to go to East Quad to meet up with She-Alex and Valerie and watch some improv theatre in the dorm's basement auditorium. The performance was by a troupe called Motoprism, and 'twas fabulous.

Then it was time to gather up the rest of the Mafia group and head back up north. The former activity took awhile; there were a lot of people to hunt down. As a bunch of us congregated in a hallway, some people walked through our midst. One guy seemed curious as to who or what we were; I told him that we were Mafia and asked if he would like to join us. He asked if he needed to kill anyone to be initiated. I said, "No, the killing comes later. Can I touch your hair?" (He had longish curly hair, almost a Ray-fro but not quite.) He consented, and I found that his hair was very soft, and I told him that he was now Mafia.

When the group was finally all assembled, we ran en masse to the bus stop. I felt as though I was in the scene that accompanies the opening credits of Velvet Goldmine, except it was night, and "Needles in the Camel's Eye" wasn't playing. On the bus, I struck up a conversation with the random guy I'd recruited (name: Joe). We talked about music (he likes a lot of good stuff), art (he said Van Gogh makes him cry), and our respective hometowns (he hates his as much as I hate mine), among other things. The conversation never really stopped. We stuck together throughout the Mafia activities, talking of this and that. Somebody initiated a Rocky Horror-themed game (to which my response, of course, was "ZOMGILOVEYOU,"), at which point I learned that Joe had gone to see the movie at the State Theatre this past Halloween dressed up as Dr. Frank-n-Furter (yes, I asked if he had pictures, and no, he doesn't). He also admitted to being attracted to Tim Curry, despite being straight.

After several games, he asked me if any food places on central were open. I named the Fleetwood, and he suggested that we go. We left in the middle of the game, for we had no interest, took the bus to central, got off on State Street, and traversed the long distance to the Fleetwood in the freezing-ass cold, huddling together as much as we could while still being able to walk. When we got there, it was crowded as hell and we had to wait for a table, but at least it was warm. When we were finally able to sit, we got water to heal our throats (our voices both were dying by this point) and breakfast food.

Fragment of conversation:
Him: "I want to go to Greece."
Me (completely mishearing and misinterpreting him because of the noise, staring at my hash browns): "Well, there's such a thing as good grease and bad grease...."
Him: "No, I meant the country."

When we finished, it was past the time when the buses stopped running, so Joe said I could crash in his room. We walked back to East Quad, stopping at the undergraduate library on the way to get warm. We walked up to the third floor, found a secluded hallway containing a table and chairs, sat down, and...started making out. When we left the library and continued on our way, I had a strange, ethereal feeling due to the combination of sleep deprivation and post-snog high.

Upon our arrival at the dorm, he suggested that we go down to the basement because it was the warmest part of the building. We ended up making out again on the floor of the laundry room, and again when we got up to his room. On his narrow loft bed. With his roommate sleeping in there. We contrived to enjoy ourselves anyway.

Then we slept, and in the morning, he walked me back to the bus stop.

Fragment of conversation (we'd been talking about Rocky Horror again):
Me: "I feel a certain affinity towards Columbia for some reason."
Him: "Columbia the country?"
Me: "No, Rocky Horror."

So...yes. We're planning on getting dinner together this evening.

It's all very odd. I'm not sure what my motive was in recruiting him in the hallway; it was probably just, "Hey, that guy looks interesting." We were talking about it at the Fleetwood, and he suggested that it was fate.

Maybe.

new_evolution — Fri, 17 Feb 2006 18:35:08 GMT

It just occurred to me that if you translate the word "homeboy" literally into French, you get "garçon de maison." Which rhymes.

Yeah, that's pretty much it.

new_evolution — Fri, 17 Feb 2006 05:34:48 GMT

Wooo. Another Garg staplefest, followed by Ambrosia with Alex and Valerie (cinnamon roll, orange-peach Italian soda--I like to get a different flavor combo every time I have one of those), East Quad, silly short movies and internet things.

I am hyper-tired. 'Tis a weird feeling--I used to have it more often.

new_evolution — Thu, 16 Feb 2006 21:27:21 GMT

Is it wrong of me to find this picture so incredibly hot?

The Slash Fanfiction Drinking Game

new_evolution — Thu, 16 Feb 2006 17:16:21 GMT

This is something I came up with while I was eating. The rules are based mainly on the huge quantity of musician slash that I have read. Feel free to suggest your own rules or to create a femslash or het version of the game.

Materials:
-One slash fanfic, preferably a smutty one-shot
-Beverage of choice
-Shot glasses (optional)
-Three or more players

Rules:
One player is chosen (through coin toss, rock-paper-scissors, etc.) to be the Designated Reader. This player must read the fanfic aloud and not consume any alcohol, as slurred speech would be detrimental to his/her performance.

The rest of the players take one drink every time one of the following happens:
-A character cries.
-A character admits to a long-standing crush on another character.
-The second character confesses that he too has been secretly attracted to the first character for some length of time.
-The two characters kiss.
-The two characters' tongues "battle for dominance."
-Mention is made of a character's callused fingers (e.g., if said character is a guitarist).
-Mention is made of one or both characters' tattoos.
-Manual sex.
-Oral sex (mouth-on-penis only).
-Anal sex.
-A penis is referred to as a "cock," "dick," "member," "manhood," or "erection."
-An ass is referred to as an "entrance" or "opening."
-Semen is referred to as "cum," "come," "seed," or "essence."
-Saliva is used as lubrication.
-One character screams the other's name.

Players take two drinks if the story involves any of the following:
-Sado-masochism.
-Blood play.
-Auto-erotic asphyxiation.
-Group sex (three or more characters).
-Unlubricated anal sex.
-Rape.
-Incest.
-69.
-Rimming.
-Anal penetration with an inorganic object (dildo, drumstick, etc.)
-Condom(s).
-A word for "penis," "ass," or "semen" other than those listed above.

new_evolution — Thu, 16 Feb 2006 01:41:42 GMT

I have found new love.

new_evolution — Thu, 16 Feb 2006 00:31:49 GMT

Stolen from chuckjd, just for the hell:

Step 1) Pick a band or singer
Step 2) Answer the questions using only song titles
Step 3) Post

Artist: David Bowie

Describe yourself: Rebel Rebel

How do some people feel about you: Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)

How do you feel about yourself: Kooks

Describe what you want to be: Rock and Roll Suicide

Describe your current mood: Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Describe your friends: Heroes

Share a few words of wisdom: Hang Onto Yourself

new_evolution — Wed, 15 Feb 2006 21:13:47 GMT

Holy SHIT!

I got into the Gregory co-op. My first choice. Which I thought I was gonna have to waitlist for.

Now is time for the happy dance.

In other news, I saw Harry Potter today at Borders. I don't mean the books or movies, I mean Harry Potter himself. Okay, maybe not. But the kid bore an almost frightening resemblance to Daniel Radcliffe.