2002-10-24 - 1:46 a.m.
Stereotypes rule. The only thing that rules more than stereotypes is when people live up to the stereotype, like on Jenny Jones tonight. I love listening to Jharick rant and rave against the idiots on Jenny Jones, as he is doing right now.
I'm tired, and I worry that it's making me punchy.
Four out of four people in Jharick's room agree, fat people should only wear mumus.
Jharick cock-punched me once. it was accidental and deserved, but it still hurt a lot. More than Wej's herpes.
Fall break is a wonderful, restful time. It should happen more often. I feel much better, like i'm ready to attack the second half of the school year with renewed enthusiasm (or inmy case, a bit of enthusiasm) I've finally found a system for keeping myself motivated in class that actually works for me. Or something like that. At least I don't feel like i'm still a week behind anymore.
I'm also ready to attack the massive trainwreck of an abortion that the musical is turning into. I swear to all that's unholy, it's like someone said the M-word in the theatre at some point. I didn't even want to be involved with this show. I was asked to audition by Ken. (yeah, that's right, Ken was so desperate for people that he ASKED me to audition so he'd be able to fill all his roles.) I imagine this must have been especially hard for him, since Ken is the one who thinks I have no talent whatsoever. It's an interesting contrast. Ken once told us in an acting class that there will always be some people who will always think you suck, and there will always be some people who think everything you do is awesome. Well, everything I do seems to impress Bob, to the point where he gushes about it, whereas Ken will only cast me in certain limited roles, or not at all (depending on the show) no matter how good my audition was.
Anyway, so it was faintly satisfying to have Ken actually ask me to audition because he needed me (well, not me specifically, but warm bodies) But this show sucks. If I could, I'd have my name taken off the program. Maybe I'll just refuse to bow at curtain. Whatever. it'll be done in a couple weeks. The only downside is I can kiss another Irene Ryan nomination goodbye. I'll still go to evansville again, though.
Writing sometimes is a lot like improv. You can't think too hard about what you're going to write about, or improv about, or your brain just locks. just open your mouth and let shit start dropping out and you'll be fine. Case in point, I didn't know what I would write about here, but I just started writing, and now Wej is bitching about how long I've been typing. And Ashley is giggling like a little schoolgirl about it.
And I'd like to take this time to give a shout out to my nuggah Jharick who hooked me up with some fine ass Kool-Aid while we watch bad ghetto stereotypes on Jenny Jones.
And I'd like to take this time out to give a shout out to Christine, for being a fine ass piece of tail (and cause she gets bitchy when I don't mention her in entries) I love you babe.
And I'd like to take this time out to tell the rest of you to take a shot at fucking yourselves, especially you. In the meantime, the rest of you can help yourselves to some pointless racism.
What's the name of the father on the Jetsons? (George)
What's the name of the wife? (Jane)
The son? (Elroy)
What's the name of the Canadian?
There aren't any, see how perfect the future is?
Oh, I love that joke. It's now my official second favorite, after the dead frog joke.
I'd like to take a moment to give a shout out to katy H. from high school (though I doubt she reads this. Nobody with taste does, really. God damn, why am I in such an "Abuse the reader" mode tonight?) for telling me the greatest joke ever thunk of, and for generally being a wonderful mentor.
If any of you out there are sexy dressing moms who love to stay out all night and party with your daughter, call Jenny Jones today.
Also, call me.
I've figured out that the problem with certain people who seem so directionless is because they are too talented (don't worry, I'm not talking about any of you). When someone is really smart and talented and creative and good at a number of different things, it's absolutely ridiculous to expect them to choose one career and settle down into it for the rest of their lives as a means of supporting themselves. It's especially ridiculous to expect us to choose that direction by the age of 20, 21, 22. Lesser folk don't have this problem, because they know that they are simply not smart, talented, creative, enough to do certain things, so they know from a much earlier age what they want to do because they have a much smaller range of options to choose from. For anybody with myriad interests and the capability to succeed at most or all of them, to ask them to choose just one is absolutely cruel, and causes way, way too much strain at an age when we should still be relatively carefree. Food for thought.
I don't have that problem, though. i'm good at a lot of things, and talented and smart and creative, but I've zeroed in on a career I have no shot at excelling in, which is it's own source of stress.
I am the universe's most frequently committed crime, occuring once a minute for sixty seconds at a time.
I don't want to quit writing. I suffer from writer's block frequently. when I can get something down, it's usually pretty good and I'm happy with it, but I don't write very often because I can't think of anything to write about. time to heed my own advice. I think I could be really happy if I culd make a career out of something like being an internet wrestling writer. I'd be good at that. I don't know why you care about any of this, but I figure if you're still reading this entry by now, you're in for the long haul, so I can talk about pretty much whatever the fuck I want to right now.
I have much the same experience whenever I start drinking a 40. The taste gets pretty much intolerable when it starts to get warm (around the last 12 ounces or so), but I press on and finish the damn thing because I figure since I've come this far, I owe it to myself to finish it all.
oh, and college is the same way.
Okay, I know I'm really getting tired now, because I just almost spelled the word "get" in the last paragraph "gett"
Time to give it up. Sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping for more rambling crap.
Ken
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