im in ur browser, spamming ur brain
[8.4.2007] [about 7:15 PM]
Warning: Reading the below may be hazardous to your
mental health. I know compiling it has caused me to be 85% more off my
rocker. ^_^ About ten to twelve hours of research, seven and a half
pages on MS Word 97, ten point font.
(Who do I have to kill to get decent formatting? Gah, Freewebs sucks. I'm taking this to dA or something.) <snip> This formatting sucks.
Blah! Blah! Blah!
[9.4.2006]
Time for a subject that none of my three readers (for the curious: my mom, a friend, and my therapist) will know about! ANIME/MANGA!
Ahem.
You know what I love about the Timeskip!Naruto crew?
The outfits.
Lee looks even more like Gai with his Chuunin Vest; TenTen has heels but still manages to be more heavily armed than a hedgehog; and Jounin!Neji is even more creepily sexy than ever. Hinata grew her hair out; Kiba has gone biker-boy (Akamarus the bike); and Shino, ever awesome, has traded his afro and shades for a hoodie and goggles. Shikamaru, with the addition of an awesome new jutsu, looks much the same (or has it been too long since I last saw the pre-Timeskip version? Well
he does look a little like Iruka now
and there are fishnets involved
); Chouji now looks frighteningly like his father, armor and all; and Ino is covered in fishnets and holds the title of Konohas Longest Hair (now that that Kin chick from Otogakure is long dead). Its funny when she hits on Sai, Mr. Socially Unaware (or, if you like, Mr. Dick Jokes).
Most importantly to the majority of Naruto fans, though, is Team 7. Naruto has somehow managed to be less orange, though he looks more like Arashi than ever (most concede that theyre probably directly related; however, I have heard an odd rumor that theyre the same person); Sakura (coughTsunadeclonecough) has Fists of Justice, high-heeled boots, and legs that never end; and what every fangirl has been waiting for! Sasuke! Has! No! Shirt! On!
Oh, and for Suna fans: Temari looks very much the same; Kankurou has another puppet and even more facepaint on; and Gaara has fangirls.
Yup, no more Mister Everyone-Hates-Me; Sabaku no Gaara, jinchuuriki for the Ichibi no Shukaku, boy-with-love-tattooed-on-his-head-for-a-superficial-reason, Master of Insomnia, the dude whose hobby was making it rain blood has fangirls.
And I have to say, its about time. Poor guy has more angst than Sasuke.
The chickadee is the Massachusetts state bird.
Im fairly sure I found this out in third or fourth grade, when we were studying our state. I also know that prehistoric history includes the Cretaceous, Jurassic, and Pleiostecene periods (the latter may not be spelled right, is it just Pleistocene instead?), and that some of the first chordates (of phylum Chordata) were fish. I know that worms are not bugs because they are in two different phyla, Arthropodia and
erm
something else that I think begins with an a. I know why and when my mother put plastic sheets on my bed (because my allergic/asthmatic/heart-condition father said that cat dander would get in the mattress; about one-and-a-half years ago, after Feb. 20, when we got Candace). I know that Candis fur, when shed, comes out gray on her favorite chairs because of the mixture of black and white; I can name every single one of the scratches Ive gotten from her, with love. Bipolar cat she is. I know that in the book on the Black Plague I just finished reading, Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague, there are four or five vague sex scenes (not counting the reminiscence on Anna Friths poor slow husband Sam). I know that Annas former favorite and now least favorite smell is rotten apples, and I know why. I know that she is similar to Literary Detective Thursday Next in that their faiths are tattered beyond recognition from the crises theyve been through (for Thursday, the Crimean War; for Anna, the Plague). I can name almost every single one of my teachers from kindergarten to tenth grade, and what they taught. I committed my first schools, Saint Johns, floor plan to memory. Even though I never actually saw the floor plan, but instead spent five years in almost every single room there (including many times the principals office. Poor Sister Eileen).
Most of the time I cannot remember the day and date, except during the school year, although even then I get confused. Today, though, I can tell you that it is Thursday, August 31st, 2006, and that I had better get my ass in gear with the school shopping (specifically, the gray sweats for the theatre uniform) before school starts on me. And that I need to sort through the daunting pile of papers from last year to salvage the supplies I need for junior year.
I can recite the quadratic formula from memory, and have been able to do this for the last three years. X equals the quantity of negative B, plus or minus the square root of B squared minus 4AC, all divided by 2A.
I can remember a lot. Which is why I end up stuck, during Humanities and Seminar work, on a single word that I know I know that can convey a lot of what I want to convey in the quickest way possible, which is good because the summer reading essay is supposed to be three pages not seven. To everything there is a story, and if I learned it at any time, then I can probably tell you. Question is, is this a good or a bad thing?
La~
=^-^=
This morning I got up, checked dA and MMPU, did a lot of other things that I can't remember at the moment, left the house, forgot my cell phone, spent five minutes trying to convey to my parents with an awkward combination of slow I'm-talking-to-a-stupid-person yelling, sign language, and profanity that I needed to get back IN the house to fetch said cell phone, left again, walked across the Common, got distracted by a six-inch-across mass of ants that were trying to kill each other (faaascinatink!), got to the Tufte Building (10 Boylston Place, owned by Emerson College and host to the Summer Stage theatre program of which I am a part of from 7.10.06 to 8.14.06) late, got on the elevator (in which can be crammed twenty-four people without fatalities, and please don't ask me how I know that) with a mass of college tour people (a useful tip for those who don't know this already: college tour leaders like to lie to tourists--or at least exaggerate, to make the school seem cooler), pressed the 6 button to go to the Green(e?) Theatre like normal instead of the Friday-master-class Semel Theatre on the third floor, realized this as we passed the third floor, rode with the tourists to the eighth floor, where someone ELSE got on (joy) and sent us to the ELEVENTH floor; then, I continued to defy the existence of the period in modern language with this sentence, finally going down to the third floor and sprinting into the Semel to find the rest of the class already going over the stage combat moves we learned last Friday (after which we had had a costume and lighting master class; the previous (first) Friday, we had a makeup master class (with bruises and sticky fake blood and wax and color wheels and black eyes and two girls did track marks and went to lunch like that and there were cops in the cafeteria and they kept sort of stalking them until I explained and THIS SENTENCE WILL NOT HAVE A PERIOD EVER MUAHAHAHAHA and my cat is cute (koneko-chaaan!~) and makeup is fun and did you know master classes are four hours long but still manage to be fun anyway?), which are (can you remember what I was talking about? MUAHAHAHAHA, I do so dearly love to digress, can you tell?) pushes and headlocks and clothing grabs and simple slaps (and naps, of course, and don't all you non-theatre people wish you were right now, and yeah-right nobody's reading this anyway, and dear god am I on crack?).
...
HOLY SHIT A PERIOD!!!1!11one1one!!!eleventy1!11!
...
Yeah. I apologize.
Anyway: A summary of what I have rambled so far: I got to Summer Stage late and the first master class was stage combat.
...Dear GODS, that was a lot of digression.
Okay! So. We had fun pretending to beat the shit out of each other. Stomach punches, falls, punches in general. Yay, like. Then we split for the Friday lunch hour. Emerson's cafeteria has great food. I'd so apply if there was a decent math/science program. I had *thinks* a cheese sandwich, and french fries (the grill cooks know me as "french fry girl", I have a plate or two of them every day), and cookies, and this really dry gingerbread thing, and "Royal Raspberry" soft serve twisted with "Old World Chocolate" (which sounds really tacky but tastes really really fucking good, and I have gained the ability to add six inches of ice cream to a tiny little waffle cone without creating a second Leaning Tower of Pisa). The next master class was improv (we were all like "YAY!" (no, really, we were)), and apparently the instructor and the head of the Summer Stage program (Courtney O'Connor) hadn't spoken in literally ten years, 'cause they just stood up on the stage reminiscing for fifteen minutes ("Oooh, remember when we were both waiters and that rock star was so high?").
Theatre people SO have more fun than you.
So after that, at four (I swear I'm coming to the point of all this soon), we hung around for three hours and blocked entrances/exits and ate pizza and cookies (some people had one slice and one cookie; I eat when I'm nervous, so I had two slices and SIX cookies, and people asked me if I was allowed to eat that much sugar at once and I lied and said yes. By the time I'm thirty, I'll probably be roughly the size and shape of a house).
Oh yeah, and I was nervous because we were going to showcase our Shakespearean (obviously) sonnets and contemporary monologues in front of a live friends-and-family audience. And I get stage fright reeeally bad unless someone else is up there with me (so monologues suck. Except for this one, Why I Want to Be Your Junior Asia Miss by Lauren D. Yee, which is so Monumentally Awesome that I could probably perform it for the world. Wait, on second thought, that was a lie).
And I was doing sonnet #81 (which is
Or I should live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive while I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory Death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entomb-ed in men's eyes shall lie. (that -ed is not a typo, it's me representing the accent of how it isn't "en-toomd" but "en-toom-ed")
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yer created shall o'er-read;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen,
Where breath most breathes, e'en in the mouths of men.
Cheerful, eh?)
Anyway, it went great, we totally knocked their fucking socks off, and afterwards I got a "Lotta Caramel Latte" from Cold Stone, which has a really stupid name but tastes really fucking good, and how the hell do I italicize words in the dA journal function? It really pisses me off to have to use caps to emphasize, makes me feel like I'm shouting.
So yeah. Wheee.
"My name is Bekki Lee Kim and I want to be your next Junior Asia Miss!"
Oh, and here's that link to the one image I've done that's not stranded in a notebook with no scanner in sight (and no knowledge of HOW to use the fucking scanner once I get ahold of one, and do I get more profane when I've had caffeine? I think I do), which is the really scary cat-example-MSPaint thing.
http://s7.photobucket.com/albums/y281/Kohikari/?action=view¤t=kittyexample.jpg&refPage=&imgAnch=imgAnch1
P.S. That whole first paragraph-blob-thing is pretty much how my brain works, flipping from tidbit to tidbit in a completely random stampede for information. Scary, ne?
P.P.S. "Fuck" is a technical theatre term. No, really, it is. And I really fucking love my...er...fellow-program-members? Classmates? Ah, fuck it. Our cast! Best cast! BEST CAST!
--[Posted on the deviantART website as a "journal entry" on 7.28.2006]--
In Other News...
(This and the previous both typed 7.14.2006)
Emerson is great. Just today we had a makeup melee (lots of bruises, slashed wrists, black eyes, blood, and Streetwalker Blue) and makeouts on camera (Pepsi! The choice of our generation! Okay, so that had nothing to do with Dawson's Creek. Um, "Blame or kiss!").
There is also ice cream in the cafeteria, along with french fries, a soda fountain, Lucky Charms, oyster crackers, and pizza. w00t.
Every day (except master-class-Friday, yay!) we have yoga/game/whichever warmup, contemporary monologue study, lunch (YAY!), Shakespeare monologue study (occasionally involving two-hour lectures that somehow stay interesting enough for me to take notes), and scene reading (soon to be scene study, with a woman purportedly as bad as Ms. Rodrigues and Ms. T-C). I am now acquainted with the Earl of Oxford, Kit Marlowe, Elizabethan espionage, The House of Yes, A Gaggle of Saints (nicknamed Bash), Pullman Car Hiawatha, and the fact that "fuck" is indeed a tehnical theatre term.
I dearly miss Wabasso, with its sunrises and organized meals and grass and trees and companionship, but Emerson Summer Stage is so. Fucking. Worth it.
--Hey, technical theatre term! =^~^=
Shiiiiine! Shineshineshine...
The Last Days of Judas Iscariot : The credits.
Written by Stephen Adly Guirgis.
Directed by Summer L. Williams.
Presented by Company One.
Featuring actors such as Shawn LaCount, Juanita Rodrigues, Noel Armstrong, Raymond Ramirez, Nael Nacer, Danny Maurino, and Mason Sand.
Hell, even the credits have credits.
It makes you want to stand up in the middle of a crowd and yell "ISCARIOOOT!" at the top of your lungs.
Or maybe thats just me.
Want a show that can make you crack up and tear up in the same scene? A production where every character has a backstory, a place, their own starring role? A play about lawyers, God, Heaven and Hell, and that man everyone just loves to hate named Judas Iscariot, that can offend every religious belief imaginable while simultaneously reaffirming faith?
Check out this show.
With Juanita Rodrigues as Henrietta Iscariot, the unfortunate mother of our friend Iscariot, and Saint Monica, the woman with a direct line to God; Magda Spasiano as the effervescent angel Gloria and a partiularly hard-of-hearing Mother Theresa; George Saulnier as the crotchety judge and Caiaphas, the morally torn high priest of Judea; Kristian Williams as the slightly dim bailiff Julius; Noel Armstrong as the witty defense attorney Fabiana Cunningham; Mason Sand as the flamboyant prosecution attorney El-Fayoumy; Molly Kimmerling as the visiting life-support patient juryperson Loretta, the pious vignetted nun Sister Glenna, and Jesus right-hand-woman, Mary Magdalene; Greg Maraio as dubiously deceased juryperson Butch Honeywell and an ego-inflated Sigmund Freud; Raymond Ramirez as the catatonic title role of the famous "Betrayer"; Matthew Scherbach as a vaguely feminine Matthias of Galilee, an anecdotal Saint Matthew, and an absolutely excellent "Soldier 1" (go generic characters! I once had the role of "Boy"! It was changed to "Girl", of course); Danny Maurino as a hilarious Saint Peter, a candid Simon the Zealot, and a marvelous "Soldier 2"; Cliff Odle as the drink-wielding Uncle Pino and an incredible Pontius Pilate; Shawn LaCount stealing the show in more ways than one with his magnetic portrayal of Satan; Nael Nacer as Jesus Christ himself (gods, that must be awkward); and David Curtis as a fantastic Saint Thomas.
Satan and the lawyers pretty much stole the show, particularly with the chemistry between themthe frosty, sarcastic, Romanian-Irish Cunningham fighting almost literally tooth and nail for her clients appeal; the obscurely accented, all-too-obvious brownnoser "El Fajita" (as the judge dubs him) trying to juggle outlandish legal acts with his various attempts to hit on the DA; and the powerful, magnetic, intimidating, shades-of-grey Satan exploding into the courtroom and bringing out character depth in all.
Of course, the candid, serious exchanges between Jesus, Judas, and the other saints brings a whole new meaning to the story of Iscariot. This is where the story is really fleshed out, and brought closer to the audience by alternating humor and drama with turns of phrase such as Judas telling Jesus to get up out of his grill. The collaboration of Summer L. Williams and Stephen Adly Guirgis has produced the singularly most awesome production ever presented by Company One ever, trumping even Spell #7, Den of Thieves, 103 Behind the Veil, and A More Perfect Union. The script is a work of art, and the director and actors bring to it the title of masterpiece. I dont know whether to spend the next hour saying nothing but "Squee!" or go see it again.
I just may do both.
Body Art
5.14.2006 (1:35 am)
Piercings. Huh.
Does stepping on the earring your friend let you borrow for the high school prom you'd never have attended if it weren't for a female upperclassman friend's (tragically) unrequited love and having it go through your foot count as a piercing?
Because if so, I have just pioneered a new age of body art: foot piercing.
I wonder if I should get a ring for the hole...
(Ouch.)
Sponsors
Anger Management
I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father. I will not kill my father.
...
I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer. I will not kill my computer.
...
I feel better now.
*inserts pretty pic*
Bluuuuuuuuuh.
4.14.2006
Dreamt last night 'bout commercialized squirrel hunting/massacre areas. Asses.
Also, have an awful awful cold. Blech.
Also, the cat is cute but bitchy. As in, "Awww--ow!"
Damn cold.
Her eyes are like black holes. Ain't it creepy?
Now That's What I Call Pus
[4.12.2006]
It was already scabbing over, but noooo, Mama-chan had to be a Health Nazi...
(What? People've been requesting interesting titles like that last one.)
So I've decided I'm far too aggressive for the average low-self-esteem teenage female. Exhibit A:
Musical rehearsal on Monday. Cast: Jamie, the playwright/producer/director/God(dess)/leading lady (as we couldn't find anyone else for the job who showed up more than twice for rehearsal); Lionel, her intrepid boyfriend and occasional prop/stand-in for delinquent actors; me, assistant director and opening character, as well as first casualty (Gen) and general Dangerous Person To Be Around; Danny, the only other person besides me, Lionel, and of course Jamie to have shown up since the beginning (plays Zack, the leading man); Jackie, prop/Fury/musical accompaniment; Aaron, mostses excellentses villainses (Jeric); Reynaldo, prop/Fury; Nathaniel, one of the three male characters (Luce)/occasional prop; Makeba, Fury/prop/That Thing Under The Piano (Which We Try To Catch With Pokeballs); Bessie, new recruit for the open three female roles (Tara (which she plays), Cricket (the lead, played by Jamie as no one else has the guts/sense of responsibility), and Luna) and Psycho White Chick; and Colleen, new recruit for the role of Luna (can't think of anything funny to say, as she was sick and left early).
Let me open the scene from you. As is procedure (and written on the imaginary contract Jamie wrote, that I signed in blood), I avoided sugar for twelve hours before practice; as is not procedure, we were shut out of the main practice room and shunted into a small room meant for maybe three people (there were like seven of us). Makeba, Reynaldo, and Nathaniel started...well, something...and I joined in. Unfortunately, while other people hold back when they pretend-battle, I literally try to beat the other person to a pulp (while giggling madly) since I have become too used to being too small/short/weak to actually hurt anyone. (Case in point: I have slapped Lionel twice and punched him in the nose twice. I did not, however, kick him in the balls. That credit goes to Makeba-chan.)
After a bit of wrestling with Nathaniel (half-heartedly, of course, as he's the kind of person you just can't get mad at (unless he makes an inappropriate remark about your high kicks. Then you try to kill him with your backpack)) I ended up (somehow) trying to break another practice room door down to get at Reynaldo. As soon as I got the door open three inches (and that with twice-my-size Reynaldo the Trumpet-Player leaning against it versus my short build), he made an inappropriate remark about me and Nate.
I overreacted again. I chased him down the hall, into the larger practice room (which we had just gained access to, as the Evil Instrumentalists--bane to any theatre major's existence--had finally left), and promptly tried to kill him with my boot.
Now this wasn't just any boot. These are clunky three-inch heels, capable of smashing a small animal's skull in with one hit (apologies for the tasteless analogy, but it proves my point). Just that morning I had jumped off a ledge on my morning stampede to the bus and wiped out, because i forgot to land on the toe (rubber) and instead tried to land on the heels as well (hard, slippery plastic built to murder something). So I already had scrapes just below my knees. (In a skirt, too! I mean, at least in jeans, but this apparently just wasn't my day...)
So I was chasing Reynaldo around the room with a deadly high-heel in hand (not stilettos, though. Not even in my Eternal Quest For More Height would I wear stilettos). The gods only know why a big guy like that would run from a teeny blond, even with a boot, but I seem to elicit that reaction in people. I must be terror on wheels. Without the wheels. Anyway, in his panicked flight he tosses a chair in my path. (Not one of those wood or metal ones. A crappy, blunt, plastic one.) For some reason, I didn't dodge it (by now, I probably had delusions of grandeur and invincibility, given my homocidal sugar high), and it caught me right above the knees.
I went down hard. I mean, I can usually take a wipeout like that and get right back up, but this hurt like the shit. It was bleeding and everything. If me and Jackie hadn't already jumped him for another remark, so that I got a chance to attack him with headphones, I'd still be trying to murder Reynaldo for that. I mean, ouch.
So I come home, and it's all scabbed over and everything, and I wake up the next morning and it's the same (except for some pretty colorful bruising). Anyway, my mom convinces me that it'd be the right thing to do to wash the scrapes and bandage them with antibiotic cream.
Yeah, real great idea. I take the bandages off today to give the cuts some air, and what do I see? Pus. Icky, nasty, oozing pus. Now, would this be happening if I had dropped the stupid "let's fix the cut" idea and let it heal on its own like I normally do? Nooo.
Hygiene is so damned inconvenient sometimes.
(Also, I almost stepped on a disembodied squirrel tail this morning. Gyecht.)
Tell me why my socks always smell like Fritos.
3.11.2006
The sophomore and junior classes went on college tours last Friday. My group had Harvard and Lesley. (Is that how you spell it? I cant remember
) One of the things that struck me was that money dripped off of Harvard like maple syrup off of a forkful of waffle. Mmm. Waffle.
It was just a wee bit irritating, as I was in an antagonistic, PMS-y mood, and so I got kind of angry about how many starving children in Nigeria the stained glass windows in Memorial Hall would feed. Apart from that, though, it wasnt really a bad school. I asked our freshman tour guide if anyone had ever murdered someone and draped their corpse over the statue of John Harvard. He just gave me a weird look and sort of inched away slowly.
My Seminar teacher, Mr. Ly, says I scare him.
Lesley was lovely, though (if you ignore the $32.5K tuition), with a small campus and gorgeous Victorian-style dorms. If I go there, I want Window House. Window House is awesome.
Our tour guide was named Sarai. (Say it: Sah-rah-ee) This was rather odd, as I had just finished reading Tricksters Queen. One of the major characters in Tamora Pierces Trickster books is Saraiyu Haiming Temaida Balitang (a.k.a. Sarai), so I kinda did a double-take. She was in Window House.
Did you know that this senile old lady had a ginormous library built in Harvard on the condition that there always be ice cream in the dining halls? That schools crazier than me.
And Im not even mentioning Primal Scream night
Shinjite...
3.3.2006
I am losing the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child.
Depressing thought, ne?
Its just that I noticed I identify more with ages 15+. Thirteen if youre reaching. Translation: Ill make a terrible parent. I mean, not that other people are terrible parents, but I would need that advantage to be even halfway decent.
If I were pregnant Id be so screwed. Not to mention the low-threshold-of-pain problem
Why are you worrying about this? you ask. Why the bloody hell should we pay attention? you ask. Well, I cant answer that last one, but I can kinda answer the first.
One of my closest friends is due to give birth somewhere between yesterday and the 20th. Her age? Seventeen. I mean, yeah, 13-year-olds were giving birth in the Middle Ages, but a) they died in the process and b) they probably killed themselves to get away from their nasty-ass fifty-year-old husbands. Bleh.
Anyway, motherhood is no joke. Being a crappy parent is no joke. And that is what I would be.
Im babbling. Yay. And listening to Dead Can Dance. Yay. And Ive discovered Bjork. Joyjoyjoy.
So why am I not as happy as my vocabulary seems to be? Two things. Sleep deprivation and homework. And frankly, the former is most of the cause of the latter. Add that to the fact that
what was I saying? Never mind. Rozefire rules. Read her stuff. http://www.fanfiction.net/~rozefire.
Blog. Blogblogblog. I like repeating myself. Maple syrup.
Death. Darkness. Angst. I have now developed the persona of a PMSing teenager. Observe my melancholy.
What? Im not allowed to make bad jokes?
Bjooooork.
Thank you, Kate.
And may I mention to whoever stole all the dashikis from Africa Lives last year that you are a butthead. We need them for A More Perfect Union.
And if you complain once more
Gods, I love her accent.
I also have rediscovered Ani DiFranco.
And did you know Go Go Dancer is Japanese? Of course, heavily sprinkled with English words, but thats been all the rage in J-pop for a while now.
What was I talking about?
And Scott Adams says women cant ramble.
Anyway, the published crapfic The Girl Who Owned a City and Tamora Pierces much-more-worthy-of-the-title-book First Test showed me that its just more readable with older characters.
Wait. Thats only partly true. Most of my problem is that idjit O. T. Nelsons complete inability to write prose better than that found on the back of a milk carton!
Hey, I might be a decent parent after all
~Originally typed...well, some time before this.~
Sponsors
O.o
(Originally typed on Oct. 14; entered 10.16.2005)
I just realized something.
All three of my idols work(ed) in Theatre. Amazing Authoress Anne [McCaffrey], my friend Jackie R., and stellar writer JadeWing/BlackLillian all have some theatre backgroundAnne-sama in directing & acting in some Latin-named play, Jackie-sama is an excellent actress, and possibly has worked with Romeo and Juliet (I cant remember -.-;;), and JadeWing-sama well, I cant remember, but she writes and knows everything about plays, so I think shes a theatre major at her college (university?).
So the question is, was I drawn to my idols because of our mutual love for theatre, or do I love theatre because its what my idols love?
Type your title here.
Add content to your paragraph here.
9.11.2005
Well, it's the fourth anniversary of 9/11. See I keep dreaming about food..., 9.6.2005, for more details on that topic.
Anyway. I went to church for the first time in two months today. An Anglican church, which is really Roman Catholic without divorces. Stupid egotistical kings and their desire to break religious rules without actually breaking them. -_-#
Sooo... Am avoiding the topic. Anyway, I am rapidly becoming something close to agnostic in my descent/ascent (whichever way you see it) into complete liberality. Or, as I call it, pinko commie-ness. Blah. As I sat through the service, I found myself scrutinizing the words and actions that once were rote for this Catholic-schoolgirl. For instance: We will be paternally loved and cared for by God as long as we fear Him. Why should we fear him? (Correction--make that a Him in case I might burn in Hell.) Why can't we just love and respect God? I mean, I don't fear my father. Should I? Or would that be child abuse?
And again I am brought to one of my greatest fears: What if all that we do is wrong? All the revisions, all the new rights, all the new changes, what if things were really meant to be Old-Testament? Am I going to writhe forever in the eternal fires of hell because I didn't get married and start popping out kids at fourteen? And, in my endlessly twisting Carousel of CatastrophizingTM, what is free will? Do we have it? Are we forever manipulated by God? If so, then why are we sinning so much? Why hasn't (H)e smited (or smote-- not quite sure) us yet?
Or all those "The end of the world is coming! Repent! Repent!" nutjobs right after all?
And thus you have a peek into the paranoid mind that is Kohikari. Cheers.
And enter the random catgirl...
9.9.2005
So! First official day of classes.
...
Well, my teachers are nice, and it was a Friday so school got out at 1:05, but I lost my copy of the script for The Good Person of Szechwan to a bout of altruism. Gah. Thankfully, I know the girl is either a junior or senior Theatre major with long black hair, and she probably just missed me in the library. Like all the other students just missed me when they ran off with all my pencils last year. *sigh* I'm too softhearted for my own good. Should I create a Shui Ta for myself like Shen Teh did in TGPoS?
Nah. Knowing me, it'd crash and burn. My life was not written by a China-deprived German playwright escaping from the Nazis in America. I have a sneaking suspicion that my life was written by a god with a bad sense of humor. He was probably drunk, too.
On the plus side, I really like my new socks, and Tess Gerritsen's new book Vanish is good, and it's a Friday, and the girl in the pictures above and below have really cool sleeves. Worship Teh SL33ves.
"I feel pretty...
...Oh so pretty...I feel pretty, and witty, and GAAAAAAY...And I pity...any girl who isn't me to-daaaaay..."
9.8.2005
First day of school! Yay! I brought an entire bagful of binders along for nothing. Oh well. I discovered that I am exceptionally good at Skirt Twister-- playing Twister in a skirt without it turning into a bad schoolgirl hentai, panty shots and all. Along that line of thinking, my friend Reynaldo has styled himself Hentai Man, and Nathaniel, my favorite glomping victim, is now apparently Yuri Dude. I have strong suspicions that my friend Makeba will end up as Yaoi Girl, and, with her two compatriots, tour the galaxy in an attempt to enforce Hentai Rights; all the while, of course, having hilarious and perverted adventures.
There is a reason why my signature features the phrase "I fear for my own sanity".
But back to Twister. The first game, myself and two of the Theatre freshmens (yes, I know the 's' is wrong, it's there on purpose to convey a lighthearted, not-entirely-serious feel to the sentence, and I cannot use the nine forms of emphasis [facial expression, gesture, pitch, pace, pause, inflection, stress, tone amount {volume}, and tone color] with merely type) from my advisory, were left on the mat until finally the exasperated teacher in charge of the whole thing declared us all winners. Then, in the second game, I was also left with two to three more people when the teacher told us to get off for another group.
I feel special now.
Unfortunately, my friend Latasha was recently and arbitrarily transferred without her knowledge or consent. She was invited back to BAA, she still lives in Boston, but according to BPS, she now attends a school she and her parents know nothing about. I saw her in the lobby, looking very upset, without keys, money, T tokens, or T pass, and her parents weren't answering the phone. I'm all prepared to go and bitch at City Hall now.
"I feel charming...Oh so charming...It's alarming how charming I FEEEEEEEEEEEEL..."
I keep dreaming about food...
9.6.2005
I've discovered that if you eat snacks in bed right before you go to sleep, you dream of food. Being who I am, this is the best news ever. I've been regularly snacking on apples and cookies late at night, and so my dreams are just beautiful. Almost always, I have snacks everywhere, all to myself. Wall to wall, like a CVS, of ice cream, frozen treats, candy, cookies, chips, apples, and it's ALL MINE!!!
*dances around happily*
I can eat as much as I want, whatever I want, whenever I want, WHERever I want. It's one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
And the odd thing is, I'm not overweight. *scratches head*
Other things I dream of are after-school times with me wandering around and getting into random adventures. My subconscious is obviously worried and/or excited about not having a schoolbus in the afternoons this year. Also, of my house getting wrecked. Subconscious Katrina/9-11/reading The Skies of Pern (about a comet hitting Pern and creating a huge tsunami that inundates most of the shorelines)? Maybe, but it's been happening since before the former and latter, and for some reason I never cared much about 9/11. Please don't hurt me. When they wheeled the TV into the classroom on Tuesday, 9/11/2001, and had the news on talking about a plane crashing into a building, I was like, Doesn't that happen all the time? It took a while for me to realize that it was NOT normal. And it can't be some sort of trauma from when my apartment burned down when I was 2, 'cause I really don't remember much of it and the only thing I lost was a doll. Right?
Anyway, feast your eyes on this lovely double-chocolate brownie, courtesy of youandmeboth's IAGIAABBS again.
PotterPotter Song!!1!!11!one!!1!
Have you ever heard of the PotterPotter song? It's brilliant. *takes a big breath*
Ah-PotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotter (Weasley, Weasley) Ah-PotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotter (Weasley, Weasley) Ah-PotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotterPotter, Ah-Snape, What's this, Snaaape, Snaaape, Oh, it's a Snaaape...
^___^ Gotta love it.
Oh, and, by the way-- yes, I am a pinko commie. *shifty eyes*
Boozles!
When I was little, I really really wanted to learn to play the violin. It makes such a pretty sound, and really is a beautiful instrument.
Around fourth grade, my Catholic school introduced a band project. There were no strings, just a woodwinds, brass, and drum section. I wanted to play the flute, because it was a pretty, girly instrument and sort of a cousin to the violin, as it made a very high-pitched noise. Back then, all I made was high-pitched noises. These days my soprano range has widened, but I still squeak and squeal and screech a lot; but I digress. ANYway, my dad has sensitive ears, even though part of his hearing was ruined when he made something blow up in a chemistry lab at Harvard. From what I hear of his days as first a chemistry student, then as a chemistry professor, all they did was blow things up.
But back to the subject. He wasn't about to let his hyper daughter prance around the house with something that made worse noises than even she herself emitted, so I ended up with a B-flat clarinet.
I walked into my classroom with my lovely, techno-gadget-esque clarinet to show off to the non-band students. All the kids ooh-ed and aah-ed at the drums and trumpets and flutes, but when it came around to the two clarinetists? I quote: "What's that?"
I dearly loved my clarinet, and was rather good at playing it if I do say so myself, but when I left my small Catholic school for a large public charter school for 5th grade, I lost band lessons. (The story about the school switchings and the drama so connected can wait for another post.) I kept playing with a tutor for a couple years, but eventually it stopped being fun for me. Now, six years after I started, I still look longingly at my dear old clarinet case, but with my little Irish tin whistle (key D ^_^) to soothe me, I can live with my decision.
Long live music.
And the Saga Continues...
9.5.2005
Wouldn't you hate to have to fight someone like that? I mean, she'd probably kick my ass...and I'm even fairly good at archery...
It is a pretty picture, though.
I have a problem. My friend Ginny H. has these two friends Maria and Laura. They've been bff's for, like, ever. Yesterday Ginny called and told me that Laura, out of the blue, decided that they can't be friends with her anymore. Me being who I am, I feel that I should do something. Me being who I am, though, I can't think of anything that would help that wouldn't hurt Gin's feelings or get Maria and Laura randomly mad at me.
*sighs* C'est la vie...
omgwtflolrotflmao!!!!1!!11! !1! !!
So I added a counter, but I can't see it--it just shows up as a "broken image" pic. Y'know, the torn folder with all the funky shapes?
All right, so... (inside joke involving sleeptalking)
This is the actress who plays Cho Chang in the fourth Harry Potter movie. She is unbelieveably pretty. By contrast, the girl who plays Fleur Delacour is downright unattractive. This makes no sense; shouldn't it be the other way around? (After all, Fleur is part veela.) Oh, well. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder anyway.
Speaking of beauty, as Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter) gets older, the less attracted I am to him. I had the HUGEST crush on him in movies 1-2, and it started dissipating around PoA. Now he has uberlong hair, and I'm turning into a Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy) fangirl. I mean, the long hair works for the Gred and Forge actors, and my friend Poe, but really not for him.
Why am I critiquing actors' hairstyles again? I should admiring the adorable kawaii widdoo owl *coos* that Cho is holding. Isn't it precious? I mean, when I copied the image off mugglenet.com, I actually titled it "WOOK AT DA WIDDOO OWL!!!.jpg". I am so weird.
Yak Yak Yakkity Yak
 9.4.2005
...Drool.
But seriously, drool.
This officially starts a series of comments based on pictures. 'Cause I haven't updated in forever, and 'cause I have nothing better to do.
So! Apple pie a la mode. Yum. Golden, flaky crust filled with warm, cinnamony apples, served with a scoop of simply luscious vanilla ice cream and topped with what appears to be caramel drizzle. Yum.
My source is a story-quiz by youandmeboth, inventively titled I'm a Girl...In an All-Boys' Boarding School?! Or, IAGIAABBS. =^_^=
But, back to the pie. Mmm. Pie. *drools some more*
Oddness
[4.27.05]
This pic has absolutely nothing to do with this entry. It's just there for the hell of it. And because it's shiny.
So I'm walking through the Common on my way home from school, and I look to my left. What do I see? Ducks. Two of them. A male and a female. Now I don't know why this shocked me so much --maybe 'cause I've never seen duck roadkill-- but it did. So after about five minutes of pointing and shouting "There are ducks!" to disturbed passersby --one even clutched her purse tighter and moved away-- I walked on. What do I see? More ducks. Another mating pair, doing the exact same thing the last two were doing: munching at the ground, like they were cows or something. I spent a couple minutes asking them why the frackin' hell they had crossed a busy street to eat grass. What, was the Public Garden all out or something? Then I hear a loud twitter and turn. There's a starling there, making all manner of sounds. It's like someone's running through all the stored noises on their computer-- I swear I heard a beep in there somewhere. I rolled my eyes and walked on again, pausing to stare at a squirrel that looks like its front half has been shaved. Must be shedding season. As I came near the part of the park with all the dogwalkers, I see yet ANOTHER coupla ducks. And then I have my answer to the 'eating grass' thing. The female has a large worm in her mouth, and is eating it. Ew. Ouch. Poor thing. But ew. Then I heard what sounded like a swing chain squeaking. I'm not anywhere near a playground, unless the city installed another without my knowledge. I hear a few more, and look up. It looks like a starling, but then I saw another one on the ground, making the same noise. At first glance it's black, but then you see that the head is all shiny blue-green, and the body's kind of reddish. The tail was all extra long, too. Any birding experts out there who can tell me what the HELL those were? They were everywhere! It's an invasion, I tell you! *runs for a bomb shelter, shrieking something about War of the Worlds and heat rays coming from evil starling lookalikes*
Also, I smelled toasted raisin bread on my way down Charles Street. Go figure.
Snowbound (sounds like the title of a book, ne?)
--So on Saturday (the 22nd), I had my friend Ben over to watch that Pokemon movie thing (it's what, the seventh one? God, these people never know when to stop); then, we went to the play 103 Within the Veil, which my theatre class had to watch as an assignment. It was a very good play. After all, the theatre company (Company One) has my Theatre Arts 1 teacher, Shawn LaCount, for an Artistic Director. ;) After that, we had dinner with Ben's mom, brother, and cousin from Rhode Island. I went over to their house for a little bit, but... (dun dun DUUUUUUUN) we got snowed in.
For three days straight I was stuck in a house with Ben, his brother, his cousin, and his mother-- and we didn't kill each other! I was shocked! Instead of chaos, he addicted me to video games. -.-;;; Have you ever heard of Tales of Symphonia? It rocks! =3 I love Colette. She's so...endearing. I mean, come on, she's klutzy, naive, and absolutely the sweetest little ditz you ever could meet. Sheena and Raine rock, too.
Then I came home. At Ben's house, there was like 3 feet of snow. In Boston? There was like FOUR feet! My mom had to drag me home, I was so busy gawping at the immense piles of white stuff in City Plaza! *drool drool... snooooooow*
The Llama Song
OK, this site will probably end up being some weird random blog-ish thing. But right now, I wanna introduce y'all to the LLAMA SONG!!!!! ^__^
*falls out of her chair laughing just THINKING about it*
"Here's a llama/There's a llama/And another little llama/Fuzzy llama/Funny llama/Llama llama/Duck..." God, it would be hilarious even if it WASN'T sung in this outrageous voice! It's like getting a midget from...um...Transylvania or something to sing the most random song on earth.
"...I was once a treehouse/I lived in a cake..."
-.-;;;
I made this site just for the heck of it... -.-;;
Seriously, it was totally spur of the moment.
::sigh::
Might as well tell you some of my favorite songs. There's that song "Welcome to My Life" by someone or other, and this camp song...
"I have a little present here for you
Inside this tiny bottle so very small and blue
Please do not uncork it, simply put it on its way
For inside there lies a summer's day
Put it on its way...
Now I'd be pleased if you didn't ask
Why I gave this gift to you
Don't know myself, did it on a whim
As a thought came running through
I just wanna make you happy
In a summertime sorta way
And I thought you might like your own summer's day
Put it on its way...
Now can you read the writing on this tiny bottle wall
I know that it's quite small
But I can read it all
It says, 'She who is a-reading me is a-looking right at my side
And might be sort of int'rested at what lies inside
There's one breath of a butterfly
One ray from the sun
And lots and lots of laughter from little children's fun
So please do not uncork it
Or everything will get away
For inside there lies a summer's day
Put it on its way...'"
I also like Green Day and most of the Top 40. As for the rest, I don't want to bore anyone who might be looking at this site, so...
INTRODUCTION TIME!!!
Ahem. Hi! I'm Kohikari. (Short for Kourinohikari. But you probably don't need to know that. No! Please! Don't leave! I don't think I could handle it if all the potential viewers flipped me the proverbial bird and walked away!)
I am 16 and a sophomore Theatre major at Boston Arts Academy. (wOOt! Go BAA!) According to my friends, I am very smart and rather weird. (Feh. They're weird too.)
I am female, fairly happily single (not like you care) and blonde. Yes, blonde. And I am NOT DUMB! (Lol. No one appreciates a Dumb Blonde joke like a blonde.) I have weird (they change color sometimes and have a flare of gold around the pupil) gray eyes and glasses, and in my free time read and write random crap (see my accounts on ff.n and fictionpress).
I also like the color green. (Again, like you all actually care.)
Well! Ne, I'll probably update this site sometime within the next century, so keep an eye out. Onegai shimasu? (Oh yeah...MAJOR anime fan here. Especially Inuyasha. I'm a Sesshoumaru fangirl... But I can't take Kikyou-bashing. Kikyou-sama is a good person! Seriously! She's just so misunderstood just because she's undead, mostly soulless, and running solely on hatred... And Kirara is uber kawaii! =^-^= Okay, I need to shut up now. -.-; I'm acting like the crazed fangirl that I am.)
Ja ne, minna!
--Kohikari*
'Tis an egg.
<a href="http://www.pickle-green.com/egraphics/main.php?id=eggs" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.boomspeed.com/egraphics/91787.gif" border="0" alt="This egg hatches on 04/05/06! Adopt one today!"></a>
OR!
<img src="http://www.boomspeed.com/egraphics/91787.gif" border="0" alt="This_egg_hatches_on_04/05/06!_Adopt_one_today_from_pickle-green.com/egraphics!" title="This_egg_hatches_on_04/05/06!_Adopt_one_today_from_pickle-green.com/egraphics!">
OR!
[url=http://www.pickle-green.com/egraphics/main.php?id=eggs][img]http://www.boomspeed.com/egraphics/91787.gif[/img][/url]
T_T None of the code works...issa real purty egg, too...
Kill All Mary Sues
http://www.hate.artificial-soul.net/marysue
![]()
|
|
