I am Jack's dog-eared library book
I won't be whiny, which means I'll be brief (that, and I have to leave for work in 10): how odd a world it is that I live in where, in my attempts to be forthcoming with people and honest about who I am at all times, I attract women like mad, yet this keeps happening. They know who I am and what I'm about from the get-go. They are intrigued and develop secret crushes on me (not all, but more than nobody at this point). They inform me (or I figure it out), and dating is contemplated. They need, of course, time to sort out themselves. We begin physically romantic activities to segue into the relationship. Knowing full well who I am and what I'm about, they seem quite happy to finally get what they want, and I assume that we'll date for awhile, since they have had a crush on me due to reasons which they are currently enjoying.

Nope. They seem to discover that, while I'm a great idea to date and that they can have sweet thoughts and empty plans about "us" for awhile beforehand, it is preferable to get the milk for free than to begin structured payments on this cow. Now, I'm not anyone different from who they knew before, mind you. Of course, when they want to back out for no goddamned good reason I get a little upset, but I restrain myself to rationality. The problem is, it's illogical to throw me away if I'm the same person they pursued in the first place. Yet, logic never has a place in affairs of the heart blah blah blah. The classic excuse for people (read: women) to do as they please and shrug off commitments and consistencies built up over time at the drop of a hat.

So yet another girl has sampled me and returned the unused portion for a full refund. I just don't get what they expect: should I be deceptive and keep parts of myself hidden from all save those who venture into relationships with me? Is my luck truly so bad that, after so many "it's not you, it's me" statements, they are all actually true? I'm pretty sure that I have something to do with it, but asking gets me more bullshit most of the time, lists of faults that they were fully aware of beforehand while they were liking me just fine.

Perhaps I am simply too much me for anyone to truly want; they believe that it is a facade and that I am really someone else underneath, only to discover, upon reflection, that I'm actually who I say I am, and they back out accordingly.

I'll say this: I'm still a gullible jackass; I'd have lost a fortune betting against the Vegas odds on this one.

Current Mood: distressed

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Questions
When one wants something, but knows it wouldn't be fair to get it given the situation of the giver, is it fair to give it regardless, even when they no longer want it due to the situation of the giver? If that situation can be read one of two ways, and can turn out in favor of either of those outcomes, and one hopes for the less fortunate, is it fair to give them what they want should the wished-for misfortune occur to the giver, even if it causes what is wanted to become a bitter pill for all concerned? Should the more fortunate result come to pass, what can be done for one when what is wanted is made impossible by said outcome?

Concentration is difficult when one's mind is wholly absorbed in chaos. A mishmash situation of confusion and angsty contemplation can be debilitating should it go too far without leaving the starting mark. When nothing operates as something, trouble is inevitable when it is eventually relied upon or flexed as an organ that is not a muscle after all. Ever try flexing your stomach itself? All you'll get is an eventual tummyache and an equal portion of disappointment for every bit that expected muscle fiber to contract and bulge with youthful exertion.

The Matrix dilemma: is it worth it to risk one's artificial reality in the hope, an unlikely but deeply longed-for possibility, that the world afterward would be better that the pleasureable falsehood in which one dwelled before? Without any real degree of estimation, it has to be done or not, and the mystery is not to be denied in one's thoughts or hopes.

Not being able to think straight + midterm = uh oh.

Current Mood: listless

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What's done is undone but more final than ever before
Oh, shit. That was my initial response, internally. I was in shock externally for a good long time. Do to my oh-so-healthy-and-fun internal superfast coping mechanism, I have shot through several layers of grief, anguish, and disbelief by now, only an hour and a half, if that, later.

Here is goes. She was saying goodbye. She was not making a decision. She was not rejecting me. It had little, if anything, to do with me at all. She was innocent the whole time, and everything would have gone on as planned had I not called.

That's where the weight lifted and the bottom dropped out at the same time. Yeah. All this time, a year, I've been full of it. It's all been based on a lie. Not anyone else's lie by my own, as well. All of that hate, that misery, blah blah blah, it's all been ME.

I stole it from her, with jealous bullshit in my heart that didn't allow for a truth beyond my first impression. Oh my God. I threw away the best thing that I had as if it was nothing, because I was so fucking paranoid that the same could happen to me. I pre-emptively aborted a wonderful future. And it doesn't just concern me; I wrenched her life out of her hands and ripped myself from it, cursing her all the way. I've lived with so much hate for so long, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to react to her now.

I feel so vacant, and I fear what will occupy that void in due time. What do I have if not bitterness and regret concerning her? Do I love her? I never stopped. That is my concern. Will I be able to control myself? Yes. Guilt is too potent of a motivator, along with what self-control I have, to lose that fight. Do I still want her? ohmygod. The liquid drains from my body to churn in my stomach when I think of such nonsense. Nonsense. Yes. It's just nonsense now. I threw it all away, and I can never get it back. We can never get it back.

Now, I'm in my heavily introspective and sorta sleepy mode, where I can't compose for shit, because my brain's moving too quickly to nail anything down. My knees are still shaky as hell, so it's good that I'm sitting, and my fingers are soothed enough my rapid typing so that they aren't shaking terribly right now. Typing here is good. Hafta keep that up.

No. Mustn't think "what if"s. No. In repeated words spoken to me with a suppressed rage I've never seen from her (she read my Livejournal, and, keeping her absolute innocence in mind, she's understandibly disillusioned and betrayed. I cop to these offenses, and have likely lost her in some way forever. Such gives pause to my shaking digits and a wobble to my currently stationary chin), "What's done is done." The finality of that statement stokes my own energies, and I want to shout "No! We weren't finished! My incompetence shouldn't have killed what was so strong and beautiful!" I want to take her in my arms, dammit. I want to look her in the eyes and say with the same power that I feel wearing on my veins that I love her. Just how much I love her. And to go into breathless detail of the new resurgence so long unjustly contained (everything saved up gathers interest). I want to with everything I have and all that I am.

But she doesn't want me to. That ship has sailed, as they say, and yelling at it from the dock only hurts her, and I'm through with that. I owe her everything now; each breath is flavored with care, each though peppered with a hint of lightness. Yet, there is a shadow to my dawn, and it sits heavy in my chest. My lungs move around it, and my blood circumvents its interference. I move with that nameless ache to type even this, as I look to the future for the first time with not hope, nor dread, but a sense of knowledge. I made my bed. I turned and burned the page.

Now I lay in the ashes.

I will behave. I must, lest I lose what little of her I have left.

Current Mood: blank

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I am the Toast King, and I rule over the moon
I showed that to someone yesterday, and it's fun to talk like that crazy character, my terrible impersonation notwithstanding. What a fun word, notwithstanding; it doesn't express much in particular, yet sounds so damn so-fist-toe-kay-tid. Read: pretentious.

Then again, that's just how I roll. :)

Anyhow, classes seem to be going well, though I fear for my future if I don't get off my ass and meet with an education counselor already. That, and finding out when the C-Base is. On the to-do mountain.

The perpendicular desires to both get a harsh point across once and for all, and to not load down the audience with a heap of guilt in the process are difficult to coordinate. Currently, I'm worried that I leaned too heavily on the former, and all the winking cuteness that followed in the rest of the long letter may have been for naught after the initial blow (as watered-down as it was) had sunk in. Life is full of hard truths, and I hate being the messenger when the most obvious result, the target feeling miserable about herself, is the one that causes me the most grief, as well.

Man, things were going so swimmingly. Nothing wrong with someone you used to like flirting with you casually. Are they taken? So what; nothing can happen here to offend that anymore. It is neutered, dealt with. Yet, the eyes continue to warmly glow and there are moments out of time, bisected by my half-hearted "...what?" though I know perfectly well.

Jesus, it sounds so damn cocky to say "oh, too bad she likes me so much"; shit, it's flattering as all hell. Yet, I can't say that to her, not like that, as if it was a trick that a poodle did to please its owner; her feelings do, in fact, matter to me a great deal.

Oh, what a mess. I hope, unrealistically I fear, that she will just keep on truckin' and eventually see me as off-limits; then we can just be awesome together like we are without her going home with a lead weight in her stomach and butterflies in her heart.

Then again, at least I erased the sentence "You cheated on me the day after we agreed to go out; I'd sooner barbeque my lips than trust them with you again", which was one of many thoughts that didn't make the final cut of the letter. Was I too nice? Does she need to understand just how closely tied her absolutely unforeseen unfaithfulness is with any romatically physical (because I refuse to call kissing "sexual", at least right now) concept of her? Sometimes even being within a few feet of her harpoons my spirits a little; only because she is who she is do they shortly afterwards rebound back into the ionosphere.

I don't really think about this much, and haven't until recently when her letter, dripping with "cute" guilt, confessed not only that she still wanted to jump me (her words), but another suggestion of some manner of hiatus from doing anything to try and keep us in check. We've had perhaps a dozen of these; I wish she'd just say "let's hash it out" instead of humoring her desires and pondering running away from the situation yet again.

Then again, I'm rather infamous for forcing confrontation and generally making things worse, as I might have here. I just want her to shut up with the wondering and the fears and all of those suspicions of history repeating itself. She knows that, in the past, I have been a sucker for returning to sources of romantic pain, but this is different. I was growing then, maturing and so was the other female in question. At this point, the current problem person and I are developed enough to know better, and her "mistake" wasn't that; she fought for me fiercely, won over my best judgement, and then promptly (we're talking next-day delivery :)) tossed me out the back door in a most...uncharacteristic fashion.

Is it ever worth it to force-feed a loved one what they possibly need to hear in order to grow as they would like to, or should I have just left her to pontificate upon her own life, offering advice and thoughts only when specifically asked?

Thank God the first female I dated moved on; if I had to deal with two in-a-relationship-but-still-want-you types, I'd lose my mind. Then I'd pull out my hair. It would be used to replace my brain via my ears.


( >_< )

Current Mood: frustrated

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Yay, more whiny shit to post!
I absent-mindedly left my jacket alone for a bit after seeing the stupid The Ice Harvest with people, only to find that a passer-by took the radio faceplate out of the inside pocket before a security guard found the jacket to give back to me. Without the radio, it's worthless. It was stolen merely for the sake of stealing it. That sonuvabitch was a gift from multiple friends, was worth a decent chunk of change, and kept me sane for the long drives that I do all of the time. I had the fucker for a year before I put it in, and it takes me a grand total of two months to lose. Odd thing about that length of time; I was driving for two months before I totalled my car. I wonder what will happen once I'm married for two months...

Anyway, I'm anxious for something positive to post, and will do so once one great thing happens in my life.

Yeah, at least I still have my sense of humor.

Don't see The Ice Harvest; it's the biggest waste of money I've ever seen with more than just myself; it wasn't even bad-funny.

Current Mood: infuriated

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The universe hates me. Great.
It has been difficult for me to acquire a job that isn't fast food related in the last few years. I apply, and no answer. I interview, and no calls. Others around me find work with little effort; a friend recently walked into the Disney Store, and was literally asked if he was looking for work upon doing so. He had entered for an application, and had a job within a minute; they didn't even know anything about him.

I had quite the opposite experience lately. Two weeks ago, a book I had ordered (one still not in and seriously screwing me up because of its absence) was supposedly on a shelf at the library, but an hour of searching and calling revealed that it was still at Rolla, and was held up by a computer error. I chatted with the staff here and found a friendly rapport with the staff supervisor. I mentioned that I used to work at the library at Mizzou, and it was suggested that I apply here, as he liked me and thought that I'd make a fine addition. I was thrilled at this, and was told to come back once my schedule got sorted out for next semester.

Well, I just did, and the fucker forgot about me entirely. He said to wait until they officially start accepting applications, and drop mine on the pile. The one time where my personality shone through and it wasn't down to a piece of paper that says I haven't worked in years, and its ashes blow away in the wind. Sure, I'll submit an application. And I'll be denied without even so much as an interview. Like always.

Goddammit.



Post Script: I was.

Goddammit.

Current Mood: angry

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Oh, it's been so long
So, stuff.

Right.

I have seen the first eleven episodes of Evangelion; it's still in it's entertaining phase, and I'm enjoying it quite a bit. That Asuka's fourteen like the rest of them and is that stacked is more than a little disturbing, but thankfully the cheesecake factor (which is considerable) is all PG-13.

Halloween was fun. I was called upon by my friend Brendan to do a "haunted house thing" with people earlier the week before. He hadn't called back, and was himself put off by the breakdown in communication concerning it all. Finally, I got the message the day in question that it was, indeed, happening, and to get my butt there as soon as possible. I arrived at Briana's parents' house around four-ish, and helped set up their garage with cobwebs and other miscellaneous prop dealies until others arrived and the hour grew late.

I took my shirt off, was wrapped pretty thoroughly in blacklight cobwebs (a strange yellow-green), and lay down on a table. When the people came around the corner of the pathway, Brenden, in zombie makeup, leapt out and "boo"ed them. Properly "boo"ed, they'd walk by me, who was as still as a prop could be. As they juuuuuuuuuust passed me, I roared to life with gagging and coughing, basically sputtering as I awoke to find my organs in the process of being digested. He got the most screams, but mine were the loudest; I made a little girl cry, and I'm proud of that.

After a few hours of freezing while laying on a table (not like I could get up), and enjoying being the center of the conversations, as I was located in the spot best hidden from the street, so we could congregate without risking a public break in character.

Also at the Haunted Garage was Briana's personsheliveswith, Tim Carr, whom I had not seen for years. He was there the entire evening in grim reaper getup; he also gave a few good shocks, completing the trifecta as he did his bit right after Brenden and I did ours.

Afterward, I took down signs with Kelly, another friend, and the two of us headed out to her friend Steve's house, where I watched a genuinely terrible movie, Shadows of the Dead. It was a No One Cares Production, and it showed. The idea was novel: a young couple go to the woods to make out in their car, the guy gets out to take a leak, gets bitten by a random zombie on the ground, and then spends the rest of the movie coping with the fact that his heart doesn't beat, his skin is slowly rotting, and his growing hunger for flesh. At one point he bites her, so there's a dual progression, with her resisting temptation as he feels no choice but to give in. In the end, she takes her own life rather than do what is necessary to stay healthy, and he is killed in a subsequent bout with local law enforcement.

This isn't a bad plot. Sadly, the movie was basically a bunch of whining, though that's fairly understandable considering the five dollar budget. We had on the only subtitles on the DVD, en Espanol, and talked over a good amount of the repetitive and overwrought dialogue, so it was even better than it would have been otherwise. Between the three of us, there were enough jokes to last, and me reading the subtitles in a deep, sexy spanish voice while this skinny white guy was yakking never failed to crack things up.

I must admit that the scene when they go to the doctor because the guy can't feel his heartbeat has some damn humorous facial expressions from all three involved, particularly the doc.


On a less happy note, Sarah still likes me. A lot. Like, as much as ever. This isn't good, and is getting worse (or better...) by the day. I have to say that being so adored is addicting, and her company is as wonderful as always, but this is just killing her. I have assured her a thousand times over that she'll get used to having me as just a friend when enough temptation is addressed and ignored, and I hope to God that I'm right; I got over her through a forced purge, but I relied mostly on her big betrayal back in February (might have fucked up valentine's day for me; I don't know yet) to ease me into seeing her as less than prime selection.

I was fooling myself when I repeatedly said that I wouldn't kill thousands to date her, no matter what she's done before, but it got to the point where the trauma was seared into my everyday consciousness, cooling my jets on her enough to be around her without wanting to a) jump her or b) jump out the window.

She, however, has no such backstab to lean on from on the Mitch front, so I don't really know if she'll...eesh...get over me. It sounds so damn arrogant, but I'm being dead serious. For once, I wish I wasn't so damn irresistable; it would make our lives much easier right now. She's going through enough, as usual, both at school and home. Now this giant helping of guilt for things she isn't even doing is on her plate. Last time, there were at least moments, reciprocation, and enough sexual tension to choke Godzilla; now I can relate and be a friend, but that's it. It's not even about making up for last time, when Mr. Harmless here pursued her despite insisting to the contrary (though, in my defense, it's what both sides desperately wanted); I genuinely want only to be her friend now. No doubt in my mind whatsoever. We have a moment when we're destined by God and the Fates to smooch the life fantastic, I want to stop her with a hug.

If she was single, who knows, but for now, it's set in stone in my heart, for once. Sadly, she is like me in feeling terrible for sins even considered. Any excuse to stab herself in the chest repeatedly with whatever angst is earned, even if the earning was itself only imagined. The Bible says something to the effect that thinking sinful thoughts is the same as sinning itself (which means that every pre-meditated sin is worth double, sports fans); despite her similar beliefs to my own, she feels this way concerning fidelity in relationships. It doesn't necessarily prevent anything, but it just decimates her inside when such considerations occur. So she's, of course, not feeling great about herself. All because of me. I could be a cold bastard and say that it's her problem, but, one way or the other, I love her; this overcomplicates things as always for me, and the pain that happens because of me reflects back on this hot son of a gun right here.

I don't want to cold shoulder her, but can I just stop hurting her, even for a moment? I make her smile and laugh with most of what I do, and provide a willing ear and friendly smile to all she says and does. I just want our awesome friend dynamic to go on being awesome.

Love gets better press than it deserves; it, as a general abstract concept, is growing complacent.

Yet, I'm loved. It's nice to see on someone's face, even if no one can do anything about it.

Bah.

Current Mood: sad

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Weekend of the 21st, yo
The short of it that I'll post more on later is that I forgot to get his gift until it was time to leave, so I grabbed wrapping paper, tape, and scissors and headed for the car. Once on the road to Wal-Mart to buy a DVD from his wishlist, I realized that I didn't know where he lived. I bought the 13th Warrior and The Ref (which was cheap as hell at 5.50), leapt next door and blew 9 of my 15 dollar gift certificate at Slackers to finally buy Engines of Creation by Satriani, and headed back home to get directions. I got them, and then hauled it at 70 for an hour and a half while listening to the trippy CD that the guy from school gave me and my new one, despite knowing every note (no hyperbole) from my mp3s. An hour and a half of driving later, I got to Mizzou (well, almost), and found his house pretty quickly. I parked, and we two were alone for awhile.

It turned out that the bastard already bought or received as gifts weeks ago more than half of his DVD wishlist, including the 13th Warrior. I vowed to return it (which I will), but at least he got the Ref out of it. He gave me Metal Gear Solid 3, which I might get to play in a few weeks. Bah school.

Mark cancelled due to school commitments, Dwyer could only attend dinner+after stuff on Saturday, and Dan and Tiffany were on the way. Me and Josh mucked about till they got there, then we all did...stuff...nothing particularly memorable; I'll have to ask josh to remind me. Josh's loud redneck roommate (one of three total, including Drew Wilsom) arrived and we all headed out for pizza. Many a racist joke with the "N" word filled the time in the car between Dan and this "Jason" character who, in fairness to Dan, told 99% of the "jokes". Pizza took a while to order, and we had an hour wait, which we spent walking around Columbia and in Slackers, where I found nothing desirable for 6 dollars while they talked about white water strategies and drinking limits of others. I always had Josh as company to tune out the conversations with; that was fun.

There was hanging out, Jenga the drinking game (alas, I did not get drunk, and still hate the taste of alcohol, though my stomach is stronger than I give it credit for, and maintained its integrity throughout), I watched much Day of Defeat, which is like Counterstrike in WWII, while Dan, Tiff, and Jason had a long band conversation. Then Jason went to bed and we watched bad soft core porn through josh's video on demand deal with the school. Many laughs were had at this hammy fakery, and we fast forwarded what did not please us.

The next day me and Josh got up (Tiff and Dan were still in Josh's out of town roommate's room, and we weren't going to disturb them) and watched the last half of Young Guns, as well as the Vault of Horror classic "Don't Look in the Basement", which is a few paragraphs all to itself. A hoot and a half, though much to endure; deemed the longest 88 minutes on record by we two. Dan entered near the end; poor Dan. We left to see Doom, which wasn't as good or bad as I hoped, but got better as it went with a (aside from the bizarrely cut off ending) satisfying conclusion that helped the plodding earlier segments. The first-person stuff was one long segment near the end, and resembed the arcade game Area 51 with a gun at the bottom of the screen. At that point, it was a cheesy breath of fresh air, and helped the audience have fun for once in the tragically serious film.

After that, we had Chinese in an alright place, and went back for more nonsense in the evening. More and more people arrived, bringing alcohol and a gamecube for nonalcoholic Smash Brothers Melee while everyone else played drinking games and were much less rowdy that I would guess. Few got drunk until late (including Dwyer, who said that you would want to know that he got drunk and enjoys such experiences now and again, for some reason), and I, despite consuming enough to do it without hitting the hard stuff (which tastes as good at sampling wet concrete), did not get drunk. There were claims of "tipsy", but I was actually just as talkative and fruity as I always am between 12 and 1:30 AM. I'm surprised Josh forgot how I get when we roleplayed; I guess he thought I was showing off at the time. Mostly I played Melee with Tiff, Dan, and some of the guys who brought it until we got tired of it. We watched the last 3/4 of Freddy vs. Jason once most had left, which several people watching hadn't seen before, including Tiff and Jason, both of whom enjoyed it. We watched some Dawn of the Dead (2004) which we had all seen in the theater and enjoyed, and then Face/Off until all were too tired to stay up any longer. Oh, and a hard core porn movie of Jason's on fast forward, with endless mocking from the 5-6 of us who were watching it (including Tiff, who doesn't mind such things). Much fun.

Drew had a girl, Jason had a girl, and Dan had Tiff, so I stayed away from the upstairs where moans were coming from (which I later surmised were from Jason's room). I wanted to go home at 3 when all went to sleep, but I got a little ways down 70 before I became paranoid about being pulled over. I wasn't drunk or even a little tipsy at that point, due to massive amounts of pretzels and metabolism working every drop of alcohol out of my body by that point, but the thought of any little thing getting some kind of breathalyzer and the resulting jail time freaked me out too much. My road atlas eluded me, and I got lost getting back for 40 minutes. Eventually, I got back and went to bed in the freeeeeezing room (others had claimed to have shut the window, which I for some reason believed; of course, they had not)at around 4:20. I got up at 11 something, talked with Josh, Drew, and a friend of Josh's who slept over (one of our porn mockers, nice guy) until about 11:30 or so, and then headed on home. I got here, promptly fell asleep while reading, and woke up not too long ago, still groggy. This isn't a hangover, as I don't have a headache (and I'm prone to them); I just didnt' sleep well at his house on a couch and a sleeping bag, and am tiiiiiiired as a result. Too tired to focus, really, and it's going to fuck me something terrible.

Ah, well, it was still quite a bit of fun, with a free, easygoing feeling that I always crave, yet rarely find, in my social environments. No assholes, no bitches, no crap from anyone; just a bunch of people determined to have a good time at no one's expense, and all circulating a general sense of good will that perpetuated contentment in me, even if I didn't actually do that much that I haven't done before (aside from pouring beer into a bowl of cheerios and trying to eat it; alas, they soak it up, and I didn't last more than a few spoonfuls before remembering how much I hate the taste of beer).

In short, it was a weekend well spent, one that I will likely regret once I "finish" these papers. Hardy har har.

Current Mood: worried

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movies movies movies
Well, I saw Corpse Bride and Mr. and Mrs. Smith on Saturday.

This brings to mind that I have not reported here on seeing Nightmare Before Christmas a week or two ago at the Tivoli. It is integral in my Corpse Bride review, so I'll briefly discuss that now. I have seen NBC several times before, and it never left too much of an impression. The animation wasn't the best, the songs were unmemorable, the acting was over-the-top, and the imagery was grotesque without the charm of cuteness nor the appeal of the macabre. Suffice to say, I was not a fan, though I didn't dislike it either.

Well, I saw it again at the Tivoli, and it all fell into place. I don't know what it was, whether the theater atmosphere, the presence of a roomful of fans, or just a newfound openmindedness. Whatever did the trick, it won my heart lock, stock, and barrel. I don't want to go out and buy memorabilia or even the film on DVD (though if I had an excess of petty cash, who's to say), but I downloaded the songs and have fed my musical addiction with them lately. It just has been on my mind; it was an experience, and not many films are with me. It is the rarely attainable, the encapsulating film moment, where in a flash of cinematic gravy an entire story is fed into my mind with the most pleasant of aftertastes, and I don't divide it into pieces during or even afterwards much. I just take it in as it is presented, and usually have a grand time in the process. The new score on NBC is on the verge of ***1/2, but so far still on the cusp.

This brings me around to Corpse Bride. When it started up, I was immediately impressed with the look. This is perhaps the best claymation I have ever seen, terribly smooth and professional. At least, it started that way. It kicked off with a repetitive song about "according to plan" which, while establishing the parents of either future spouse, was about twice as long as it had the writing for, necessitating a lot of simple repetition, a sadly recurring theme in the songs in this movie. The details of the city were spectacular, and there were many little details that I delighted in seeing lovingly crafted through painstaking hours of claymation. I enjoyed it after that, and took great delight in the first meeting of Victor and Victoria; I bought that as a loving first impression right off the bat. Then there was the rehearsal, which was dark, but so blunt with tone that the negativity became repetitive and took me out of the movie as I was a little uncomfortable with the same angry lines being yelled at a likable character repeatedly; seemed like a waste of good claymation that could have been tightened before they filmed it for months. Then there was the introduction of the CB, which was great. She looked luminous, and it was properly spooky. Then we, tragically, got to the underworld. Distinct but with many repeated "Get it? They're dead!" jokes that wore on weakly as the movie went on. From the beginning, the Peter Lorre worm was a little annoying because it was too exaggerated of an imitation, and that also got worse as the picture progressed, with closeups looking like clay, defeating the purpose of claymation with such zoom shots. The song in the bar, which I didn't know was sang by Danny Elfman, was yet another near miss with success. It was great and perfectly effective for a long time. Had they just stopped when they were ahead...but they didn't. Instead, they animated another several minutes of weired multicolor stuff, looking like a late 60's fever dream scene, and serving no purpose. I don't mind bloating as much in big movies, but this picture was moving at a breakneck pace up to this point, with characterization often boiling down to a single sentence said to oneself before advancing the plot some more.

After the alarmingly irrelevant, and relatively minimalistic, proceedings, the story picks back up. Vic goes back, and abandons this perfectly nice girl who he hasn't been afraid of for many minutes now, right in the same situation that led...to...her...death. This made me pretty damn angry at Vic. That it didn't even cross his mind right after that big musical number is frustrating, because the film took enough time drumming it into the brains of the audience; the least it could do is have the main character, who the song was directed to, remember less than a few hours later. If he does, it doesn't bother him in the least, as there is no expression of remorse or guilt on his face or in his voice as he does so. She's understandably upset, and he doesn't even apologize. No, he just turns around and slaps her across the heart some more, only realizing that he's doing so repeatedly when she walks off heartbroken. She gets a musical number which would be lovely if not for the damn Peter Lorre worm who, with a spider, sings an annoying repetitive duet about encouraging her to entice Victor. Her verses are lovely, tragic, and well sung, but are intercut with the bugs singing the same old chorus, counter to what she wants and suggestive of what never occurs. She doesn't try and win his heart. They have an admittedly cute piano duet where he does his best to cheer her up, and somehow makes him fall in love with her, or something. He seems, at best, pleased to see her in high spirits, and the next bit is him willingly laying down his life to marry her. Wha...? I mean, we like her just fine, but he has shown absolutely no interest aside from an occasional moment of awe. He has treated her as significantly less than human, and with less affection than he treats his dog, which is another admittedly cute, though puzzlingly unexplained, moment, and I would have liked to see more of the little guy.

So everything is going this way and that, with everyone and their mother labelling the villain as the CB's killer from the moment the method of her death is mentioned. That didn't really bother me, though it was a little pat. Everthing comes together in a much too long dead-are-rising bit, though once they are united with their living counterparts, it becomes wonderful, and picks the entire picture up. The climax is brief and unexplained, as the CB sees Victoria and, despite knowing that she's married, gives Victor to her. I doubt they had too much divorce back then, and Victor seemed perfectly happy with her, but the CB strangely sacrifices her eternal happiness and tosses Vic at Victoria like she's donating him to a good cause. Then the bad guy loses his mind for no reason and, instead of leaving town like he has done before, empty-handed but without a shred of suspicion outside of Victoria's word, which no one listens to, attacks everyone. This was eye-rollingly uncharacteristic of the coward that he was and might as well have been explained with demonic possession, as he acts like a new character altogether. It was fine in terms of the scene, but made absolutely no sense in context. So, of course, he just drinks some handy wine...in a ceremony populated by the undead...and of course, dies. Then they all drag him away to do whatever and the CB...becomes...butterflies...and the movies ends right there. No denouement, no final hurrah, no satisfying conclusion. She just turns into butterflies and the movie ends with them flying off into the night. Whatever.

So, grr! They spent years making this! What the hell? How could they not notice that no one had a reason to do much of what they did, aside from the CB, who was treated like crap by every living man in the movie until Vic lost his mind and said "I played the piano with you for a minute and find your undeath unfrightening for the first time in the movie; time to get hitched, I guess!". They spent so long on musical numbers that largely served no purpose in the movie, and were longer than they needed to be without any merit other than being catchy and filling screentime with mustical hutzpah, like the shows of old in the 30's. The thing is, those movies were often shot inside of a month, with virtually no budgets. This labor of love took years to painstakingly craft, and these problems were still there. Tim Burton didn't seen an issue with a 76 minute film featuring overlong songs and and ending that makes absolutely no sense? Surely it wouldn't have been that difficult, before a single piece of clay was crafted, to look at it and say "Wait, we need more chemistry between the Bride and Victor. Give them a scene where he actually likes her and is comfortable around her, post-piano. Something to make up for all of the abuse and neglect he's piled onto her so far. Oh, and what are those butterflies all about?" Nope. They just went ahead and claymated all of the problems into it and let a 76 minute film with the plot of a 15 minute short be released. I hope there are deleted scenes, or at least deleted storyboards, on the DVD. I would love to see what might have been if there had been a good, pushy producer on the project. Or fewer, if he was told to trim the talky stuff by some stuffed suit. Blinding potential, big dissappointment. **1/2

The comparison to Nightmare Before Christmas is that, despite its own problems, NBC had none of CB's problems. The songs were necessary and provided a valuable window into the characters singing them, along with haunting melodies that were perfectly matched with the creepy surroundings. None were too long, nor did they slow down the movie a tick. The plot moved along swiftly, and didn't feel rushed as much of CB did, with character moments all over the place. The most annoying character was Oogie Boogie, and he was hardly featured, as opposed to the extraordinarily ugly and vexingly repetitive Peter Lorre worm. The film was pleasant, upbeat, and featured a main character who was easy to like and always had understandable motives for what he did. Victor was an ass, a coward, and a sweetheart at varying intervals, often without transition from one to the next. How strange that Jack, a skeleton, was much more human than Victor. By the time NBC ends, we're left satisfied with the townspeople, the professor, and Jack and Sally with a lovely little duet that gives me goosebumps just remembering the emotion of that moment. Corpse Bride could have had that, with another minute or two of screen time, showing wrap up. It chose the quick and brutal cut, undermining what little relationships the characters had by leaving virtually all of them without closure, or at least any that made any sense. At least CB didn't give the "full measure of life" speech, though I have to admit, it came to mind while my eyebrow was elevating a foot above my face during her departure.

I just checked; NBC is also 76 minutes. This is stunning and even more revealing of a crew working off of sheer desire to put their ideas on the screen, versus a production that winds up being complacently slipshod. That NBC seemed to be 85-90 minutes, and CB felt like a little more than an hour, padding included, is frustrating, as I looked forward to CB for years with the rest of Burton's fanbase. Damn him for disappointing me again, though this isn't nearly Mars Attacks or...ugh...Planet of the Apes. It does go with the latter in the "What was Tim thinking?" box, however.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith. First off, it's leaving the St. Andrews pretty soon, though I was supposed to see it with Monica. She didn't sound like she wanted to, so when the opportunity came up to see it with Rick, who loved it, I figured she wouldn't mind, rather than I not see it in the theater at all and she be the cause. The movie was fucking great. I have to say, there was one scene early on that I would fast forward through for a friend of mine, but even that is played lightly, is relatively brief, and a lot of it was shown in the trailer. Outside of that, the movie never stopped entertaining me. Every scene. Nearly every line. I loved it. Wow. Their rapport and reactions to one another made it obvious that they got along famously during rehearsals, because everything is wonderfully naturalistic. Is Brad playing Brad? Thank God, yes. The same goes for Jolie who has never been so appealing(I'm not much of a fan of hers, but loved her in this). Highest marks and recomendations. My brother had to silence me in the theater because I was laughing too loud at one point.

I am still surprised at the sheer amount of violence that was kept in after they switched from R to PG-13, but the light-toned musical score (which helped immensely in keeping the mood upbeat and hopeful throughout) probably contributed to that little victory. This film deserved to make its money, and I am glad to see Brad Pitt being beautiful and charming without playing second fiddle to Clooney or being the best part of a weak film. Also, a fun surprise for the cameo voice of their marriage counselor. ***1/2 hands-down; best film I've seen since Sin City this year. Yes, that puts it above Batman Begins, and I don't care. I haven't laughed and smiled this much at a movie in quite awhile, especially one with so much violence. Memories of Gross Point Blank and Demolition Man spring to mind, and this movie is right up there with 'em, though obviously not as dark due to the PG-13. Can't wait for the sequel (fingers crossed)!

Time go get back to work on my new papers from hell. I remember when I could relax without sweating about my work. Ah, distant nostalgia.

Current Mood: listless

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I have to, don't I?
Leave your name and
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written

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On being terribly tired
Nope, I'll still use this.

Just not for boring, repetitive crap.

And nothing that's just hurtful instead of informative.

If I want to vent, I can prattle on to myself.

If I want to share, this here be the place.

Yarr.

Poof.

Current Mood: tired

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The universe is weird
Alright, I'm pretty much out of it all the time these days, with the only energy I experience seeming to come from flare-ups at either Blue or myself. You know, this is stupid; Monica and Sarah. There. Sheesh. Anyway, I'm pretty much dry as a desert in terms of fluid, tangible emotion nowadays, so it was pretty funny, and quite fortunate, that today me and Sarah had some strange reconciliation. It wasn't anything bad, though it might lead to more strangeness down the road and stress. Who the hell knows. Anyhow, I decided that sitting two seats away from Sarah and her friends, who are fairly fond of me, was stupid and just sat my ass down next to her. We made the same eloquent observations and funny comments that we did before, but now we were a team like before. It was fun. Us both having a paper to do that day, I decided to leave and get to my next class, hoping she'd get far while I was in class and choose a different computer lab than I. She called after me, and, after talking friendly as always on the way to where I had to go to class, it was left with a promise to e-mail me where she settled in. Well, I did class and when I left, I expected no such e-mail, or one suggesting that we work seperately.

You see, when we work together, we have a great time, and help each other a lot. The trouble is, we're too distracted to actually get much done. What we do is good work, but if there's something to grab our attention, hours fly by while we're having a blast. This case was no different.

I found myself in possession of an e-mail telling me to go to a certain computer lab. I did, and there she was. She had decided to do her paper with Peter and Wendy, the adult-oriented book that followed the play Peter Pan. She had maybe fifty, probably more, post-it bookmarks jammed in there. She loved the damn thing, and couldn't help sharing about various parts of it. All day. It sidetracked her constantly, but she had so much fun telling me about various parts I just got caught up in her enthusiasm. She was under the weather for a half dozen reasons, and it made her happy to share. Of course, the computers gave out on us at one point, erasing all we had up to that point and denying us access from our school hard drive just to rub it in. We worked for a little bit more, and then she was going to leave to go the metrolink to get picked up at the station near where her father works.

She had been firing sad and frustrated looks at me here and there, so I worried. Still, I kept her company, and she let loose with much of what God was dumping on her, which dwarfs my problems considerably. I'll say this: when serious health problems arise, or make themselves known again, any past grievances or negative emotions go out the window; it isn't Sarah whom this refers to.

I gave her a big ole hug when she needed it most, because to not do so would be far crueler than I am capable of. I stuck my hands in my pockets, and she laced her right in the loop formed by my left. It wasn't romantic, though. It was simply that she wanted to be held, and I was holding her. She talked some more about things, and we had some laughs waiting for the train. I didn't have anywhere pressing to be, so I kept her company on the 10-12 minute train ride (guesstimating). She lay her head on my shoulder, and it was peaceful. I brought up at the UMSL station that I hoped she wasn't starting to like me again with a joking tone, but with an underbelly of genuine concern. She claimed she wasn't, but admitted without provocation that I was on her mind regardless. On the train she said that she would be honest about things as they came, and I expressed, with an absolute lack of any detail whatsoever, that I was incapable of doing much proactively these days, so whatever will be on her cue, like working on our papers was. Other than that, I was supportive, and things were like the used to be when lust and desire weren't causing things to become more complicated and needy, for both of us at different times, than they had to be.

If I had to pick a word to describe our dynamic today, it would probably be "optimal". Of course, this isn't likely to happen again, but I have no way to know that. It's so odd, but I feel emotionally sterile. The potential is there, but all that's there is what was there a second ago, at least so far. A month ago, I'd have been all over the place. Now I feel laid back, with my brow creased with concern and curiosity, but not too much. It feels like it will work itself out, whatever that winds up being. From what I could tell, her and her boyfriend are not a problem, at least not that came up, so that's a relief. Ten bucks will get you twenty that I'm the only one locally who understands and can provide necessary hugs on days like this, when everything converges into a craptastic crossfire.

It's odd. She seems as wiped out as I am these days, though from heftier shit than I, I suppose. We're still like two peas in a pod, even when we're in seperate universes. Do I still love her? As much as I ever did. It doesn't seem to make much of a difference, except I'll jog / run 7 minutes back to my car to get jackets because the temperature falls off the map when the A/C kicks in; I didn't really need one, but she was wearing shorts. While she had to leave shortly after I returned, it got me one of those looks. I didn't do it for thanks; she can't concentrate while she's freezing.

I don't know if this will change in time. Probably best to not think about it. We don't have any contact until class on Monday, so it doesn't really matter. Just something to make me crease my brow with worry. I told her I'd love to have her as a friend, but I worry that she fears that my feelings have gone away. Well, maybe hers have, at least a little. No, we have that in common; It'll be the death of us one day.

Anyway, I have to finish up the thing. Just wanted to scribble this all down before I forgot it.

Current Mood: groggy

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This is a land of confusion
More conspiracy theories than High Times Magazine.

Poof.

Current Mood: melancholy

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Man, I guess it's the highway yet again
The attempt?

To provoke a response.

The result?

Success, to my regret.

Final answer?

Poof.

Current Mood: cranky

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Reflections
call of cthulhu

Strange desires motivate the mind to seek its opposite
the despair the cripples thought
allowing emotion to run unchecked
this powerlessness, such vulnerability, it is the end result
and one sought with feverish enthusiasm
strict determination to reach that conclusion
to endeavor always towards a place fully without
upon reaching such there is little satisfaction
save that now the quest begins anew


nighttime

small ridges across that which stares back at me
flecks of color and lines of impression
circles, patterns, designs
then to turn, to readjust, to tighten the grip
on all that feels comfortable
closed or open, the sight remains
mocking my struggle, banner for awareness
denying me rest with such attention


grape juice

the kick delivered is what I receive
the flavor is noticed, but remains
an afterthought to the sensation
of all of that potence contained
in only a small mouthful


the walk to my car

sacred air spills out of this mouth
sliding between the lips like
silk onto which no man can grasp
familiar thoughts in foreign tongue and intonation
a wind passing through a shaded patch
the leaves are moved, unknowing and without sentiment
circulating through trees, whistling and blowing
scattering life as its side effect
leaving to allow the stir to settle
everything is changed, but remains constant regardless


bottom of the glass

take in that which is desired
consume what is contained for such pupose
fulfill what has been ordained to be the custom
taste what can be sampled and taste again
feel the guilty decadence
thrill to excess bred from oversaturation
befriend waste, the child of thoughtless hunger
live not to fill, but to follow through
perpetuate the illusion of satisfaction
continue until empty


stagnation

Comfort limited by overstatement of advantages
inherent to this simple life
safe, protected, alone,
feeling well-prepared for the outside
yet there is nothing beyond
no one to care about those who lack the determination
to venture forth and be one of many
what is to be gained in such a life?
little can be lost
but none is there on which to subsist
all is supposition without objective eyes
that which is desired is unattainable
nothing of fulfillment is known
every thought is simulation
each feeling is spent in vain
a pearl of sand dwelling on the obsidian beach


averting

so this can drive the human mad
yet still give warmth in harsher climes?
each beat louder than the last
each breath shorter for fear of discovery
a step away without a glance
a mind unfocused yet so devoted
not wont to acknowledge
shy away from pain associated
throb, o heart, so that my very being
fluxuates with sincere undulation
and pray that such vibrations go unnoticed
without pain, scars are overlooked
and forgotten


blink

treasure now this brief escape
let not the waking mind intrude
upon this craven sepulcher

Current Mood: tired

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Thoughts most irritating and predictions most unhappy
Since the universe apparently revolves around me, it's little wonder I'm so obsessed with the gravity of the situation.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Poof.

Current Mood: groggy

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Oddly good news
- Edit -

I'm tired of hurting people's feelings, so consider the above edited into oblivion.

- Edit -



Oh, better news. Sarah isn't afraid of me. She still likes me. She's afraid of herself. She's warming up to me again slowly, and I had the rare opportunity, between cheerful idle banter to keep things light, to tell her about your situation, and how I finally grew up when it comes to friends who are in relationships. She seemed to believe me, and I detected a hint of relief, though my radar has been glitchy with her since school started back up. I lent her a coat for our freezing cold 2.5 hour class. She thanked me with helplessly hungry eyes. I'm only making her hate herself, and her study habits are as bad as ever. At least her mom got hospitalized for an infected housecat bite on her ankle. It was deep as hell, but nothing too bad, and won't lead to more serious problems; I expressed my severe sympathy to Sarah, which is genuine, but her mom did poison our happiness, short-lived as it was anyway. I'll enjoy this for at least a little bit.

Anyway, things seemed better; she even said goodbye when I dropped her off at North Campus. She didn't, however, unlock my door when I let her in, which I could see her resisting when I got to my side of the car. This is a step in a good direction. I don't feel like I lost her anymore, but that we are simply being cautious about existing in the same universe. No anger, no stress, just good times when we can spare them, and I'm letting her dictate, without asking, what's going on.

This might be the extent of it; I wouldn't mind. We talked for a bit in the car, something that won't likely happen again, possibly forever, but our demeanor towards each other is also becoming much more comfortable, in a healthy, non-flirty direction. She still bats the eyes reflexively, but I've set my charm to "amuse" from it's usual "stun" setting, and she said that she noticed when I hinted at such in the car. In all honesty, it's the most I remember getting out of a five minute conversation. Odd how time limits causes one to excel at expediating things.

Anyway, that was not bad, and will likely stay at not bad, which is good. Then I checked online, and the bottom dropped out. Bleh.

Seriously, that color nonsense was pretty dumb, even for me.

Current Mood: crushed

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Post Script
It is creepy reading these, knowing that Alisha's nickname is (was) Blue.

Yup.

Poof.

Current Mood: cold

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My mistake, and a new journal that replaces embarassment with pain.
Mmm-mmm.

Roast foot with a side of mixed signals.

Poof.

Current Mood: nauseated

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Last night
My God that last entry was epic, even by my standards. Copied and pasted to Microsoft Word, double-spaced at 12 font, the fucker clocked in at over 14 pages. That's a bowlful of hot Goddamn if I ever tasted one.

To characterize my last few days as altogether miserable would be incorrect, so I'll mention last night here. I had the rare pleasure, at least for me, of performing in front of a crowd. I danced and pranced clumsily (due to my own inexperience, sadly) as Brad in the pantomime cast for a presentation of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was outside on pebbly concrete, and my nervously diminished manhood was on display for more than an hour, but it was quite entertaining. At the time I was being rabidly self-critical and embarrassed for my seeming unfamiliarity with a film I have seen possibly 25-30 times by now. Given that I had never paid special attention to Brad before, but much of my compliments (though few were given directly to me, so hearsay is included in this) were based on the assumption that nothing was expected due to my assumed lack of knowledge of the intricasies of the film. In this light, it's hard to feel genuinely appreciated, but I'm not wont for gratitude; I merely wanted to do my best, and I did. It was a blast, and I will hopefully hold on to this as a good memory, despite the depressing bookends of both frustration and solitude in the time before and after the show. That the former was in the presence of a person very dear to me makes the feeling of being truly alone even sharper. Still, the show was fun, and I don't anticipate doing it again, though I would if asked, so the fact that it went well makes me glad.

(Entry finished at 12:26 PM)

Current Mood: hopeful about future nostalgia

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